UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


UNIVERSITY  of  CALIFORNIA' 

AT 

LOS  ANGELES 

LIBRARY 


IN 
KEDAR'S    TENTS 


BY 


HENRY    SETON    MERRIMAN 

Author  of  "The  Sowers" 


£^    G  *-f 


>  >  > 

-— . 


NEW    YORK 

DODD    MEAD    AND    COMPANY 

1898 


3  0  87 


Copyright,  1896 
By  Henry  Seton  Merriman 

Copyright,  1897 
By  Dodd,  Mead  &  Company 


*      •      •    *■    "  * 


«  •      •  .•        •        •         * 

•  ;•!•••    •  ••••• 

•  •  •  r   < 


SUntbcrsttjj  tyxm 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


Contents 


APTBR 

PAGR 

I. 

One  Sows       . 

I 

II. 

Another  Reaps 

II 

III. 

Like  Ships  upon  the  Sea 

*i 

IV. 

Le  Premier  Pas 

34- 

V. 

Contraband 

47 

VI. 

At  Ronda      . 

58 

VII. 

In  a  Moorish  Garden   . 

68 

VIII. 

The  Love-letter  . 

80 

IX. 

A  War  of  Wit    . 

92 

X. 

The  City  of  Discontent 

102 

XL 

A  Tangled  Web 

•      ii3 

XII. 

On  the  Toledo  Road 

124 

XIII. 

A  Wise  Ignoramus 

•      135 

XIV. 

A  Weight  of  Evidence 

146 

XV. 

An  Ultimatum 

•      157 

XVI. 

In  Honour     . 

.      168 

XVII. 

In  Madrid 

.      179 

XVIII. 

In  Toledo 

.      191 

XIX. 

Concepcion  takes  the  Road 

202 

XX. 

On  the  Talavera  Road 

21  3 

XXI. 

A  Cross-examination     . 

224 

CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

• 

PAGK 

XXII. 

Reparation           .                                            234 

XXIII. 

Larralde's  Price 

•     245 

XXIV, 

Priestcraft         .        .         , 

•         256 

XXV. 

SWORDCRAFT 

1         2.(>7 

XXVI. 

WOMANCRAFT 

.         278 

XXVII. 

A  Night  Journey 

.         289 

XXVIII. 

The  City  of  Strife   . 

>         300 

XXIX. 

Midnight  and  Dawn 

311 

XXX. 

The  Dawn  of  Peace 

32Z 

In    Kedar's   Tents 


CHAPTER   I 

ONE     SOWS 

"  If  it  be  a  duty  to  respect  other  men's  claims,  so  also  is 
it  a  duty  to  maintain  our  own." 

It  is  in  the  staging  of  her  comedies  that  Fate 
shows  herself  superior  to  more  human  invention. 
While  we  with  careful  regard  to  scenery  place  our 
conventional  puppets  on  the  stage,  and  bid  them 
play  their  old,  old  parts  in  a  manner  as  ancient, 
she  rings  up  the  curtain  and  starts  a  tragedy  on  a 
scene  that  has  obviously  been  set  by  the  carpenters 
for  a  farce.  She  deals  out  the  parts  with  a  fine 
inconsistency,  and  the  jolly-faced  little  man  is  cast 
to  play  Romeo,  while  the  poetic  youth  with  lan- 
tern jaw  and  an  impaired  digestion  finds  no  Juliet 
to  match  his  love. 

Fate,  with  that  playfulness  which  some  take 
seriously  or  amiss,  set  her  queer  stage  so  long  ago 
as  1838  for  the  comedy  of  certain  lives,  and  rang 
up  the  curtain  one  dark  evening  on  no  fitter  scene 
than  the  high  road  from  Gateshead  to  Durham. 
It  was  raining  hard,  and   a  fresh  breeze  from  the 


2  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

southeast  swept  a  salt  rime  from  the  North  Sea 
across  a  tract  of  land  as  bare  and  bleak  as  the 
waters  of  that  grim  ocean.  A  hard,  cold  land 
this,  where  the  iron  that  has  filled  men's  purses 
has  also  entered   their  souls. 

There  had  been  a  great  meeting  at  Chester-le- 
Street  of  those  who  were  at  this  time  beginning 
to  be  known  as  Chartists,  and,  the  law  having 
been  lately  passed  that  torch-light  meetings  were 
illegal,  this  assembly  had  gathered  by  the  light  of 
a  waning  moon  long  since  hidden  by  the  clouds. 
Amid  the  storm  of  wind  and  rain,  orators  had 
expounded  views  as  wild  as  the  night  itself,  to 
which  the  hard-visaged  sons  of  Northumbria  had 
listened  with  grunts  of  approval  or  muttered  words 
of  discontent.  A  dangerous  game  to  play,  this 
stirring  up  of  the  people's  heart,  and  one  that  may 
at  any  moment  turn  to  the  deepest  earnest. 

Few  thought  at  this  time  that  the  movement 
awakening  in  the  working  centres  of  the  North 
and  Midlands  was  destined  to  spread  with  the 
strange  rapidity  of  popular  passion  —  to  spread 
and  live  for  a  decade.  Few  of  the  Chartists  ex- 
pected to  see  the  fulfilment  of  half  of  their  de- 
sires ;  yet  to-day  half  of  the  People's  Charter  has 
been  granted.  These  voices  crying  in  the  night 
demanded  an  extended  suffrage,  vote  by  ballot,  and 
freedom  for  rich  and  poor  alike  to  sit  in  Parlia- 
ment. Within  the  scope  of  one  reign  these  de- 
mands have  been  granted. 


ONE   SOWS  3 

The  meeting  at  Chester-le-Street  was  no  differ- 
ent from  a  hundred  others  held  in  England  at  the 
same  time.  It  was  illegal,  and  yet  the  authorities 
dared  not  to  pronounce  it  so.  It  might  prove  dan- 
gerous to  those  taking  part  in  it.  Lawyers  said 
that  the  leaders  laid  themselves  open  to  the  charge 
of  high  treason.  In  this  assembly,  as  in  others, 
there  were  wire-pullers,  men  playing  their  own 
game,  and  from  the  safety  of  the  rear  pushing  on 
those  in  front.  With  one  of  these  we  have  to  do. 
With  his  mistake  Fate  raised  the  curtain,  and  on 
the  horizon  of  several  lives  arose  a  cloud  no  bigger 
than  a  man's  hand. 

Geoffrey  Horner  lived  before  his  time,  inso- 
much as  he  was  a  gentleman-radical.  He  was 
clever,  and  the  world  heeded  not.  He  was  bril- 
liant, well  educated,  capable  of  great  achievements, 
and  the  world  refused  to  be  astonished.  Here 
were  the  makings  of  a  malcontent.  A  well-born 
radical  is  one  whom  the  world  has  refused  to 
accept  at  his  own  valuation.  A  wise  man  is  ready 
to  strike  a  bargain  with  Fate.  The  wisest  are 
those  who  ask  much  and  then  take  half.  It  is  the 
coward  who  asks  too  little,  and  the  fool  who  im- 
agines that  he  will  receive  without  demanding. 

Horner  had  thrown  in  his  lot  with  the  Chartists 
in  the  spirit  of  pique,  which  makes  some  men 
marry  the  wrong  woman  because  the  right  one 
will  have  none  of  them.  At  the  Chester-le-Street 
meeting  he   had   declared    himself  as   upholder  of 


4  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

moral  persuasion,  while  in  his  heart  he  pandered  to 
those  who  knew  only  of  physical  force  and  placed 
their  reliance  thereon.  He  had  come  from  Dur- 
ham with  a  contingent  of  malcontents,  and  was 
now  returning  thither  on  foot  in  company  with  the 
local  leaders.  These  were  intelligent  mechanics, 
seeking  clumsily  and  blindly  enough  what  they 
knew  to  be  the  good  of  their  fellows.  At  their 
heels  tramped  the  rank  and  file  of  the  great  move- 
ment. The  assembly  was  a  subtle  foreshadowing 
of  things  to  come  —  of  Newport  and  the  march 
of  twenty  thousand  men,  of  violence  and  blood- 
shed, of  strife  between  brethren,  and  of  Justice 
nonplussed   and   hesitating. 

The  toil-worn  miners  were  mostly  silent,  their 
dimly  enlightened  intellects  uneasily  stirred  by  the 
words  they  had  lately  heard,  their  stubborn  hearts 
full  of  a  great  hope  with  a  minute  misgiving  at  the 
back  of  it.  With  this  dangerous  material  Geoffrey 
Horner  proposed  to  play  his  game. 

Suddenly  a  voice  was  raised. 

"  Mates,"  it  cried  at  the  cross-roads,  "  let 's  go 
and  smash  Pleydell's  windows  !  " 

And  a  muttered  acquiescence  to  the  proposal 
swept  through  the  moving  mass  like  a  sullen 
breeze  through  reeds.  The  desire  for  action  rus- 
tled among  these  men  of  few  words  and  mighty 
arms. 

Horner  hurriedly  consulted  his  colleagues.  Was 
it  wise  to  attempt  to  exert  an  authority  which  was 


ONE   SOWS  5 

merely  nominal  ?  The  principles  of  Chartism 
were  at  this  time  to  keep  within  the  limits  of  the 
law,  and  yet  to  hint,  when  such  a  course  was  safe, 
that  stronger  measures  lay  behind  mere  words. 
Their  fatal  habit  was  to  strike  softly.  In  peace 
and  war,  at  home  and  abroad,  there  is  but  one 
humane  and  safe  rule  :  Hesitate  to  strike ;  strike 
hard. 

Sir  John  Pleydell  was  a  member  of  that  Parlia- 
ment which  had  treated  the  Charter  with  con- 
tempt. He  was  one  of  those  who  had  voted  with 
the  majority  against  the  measures  it  embodied.  In 
addition  to  these  damning  facts  he  was  a  large 
colliery  owner  and  a  local  Tory  of  some  renown. 
An  ambitious  man,  as  the  neighbours  said,  who 
wished  to  leave  his  son  a  peerage,  Sir  John  Pley- 
dell was  known  to  be  a  cold  and  calculating  spec- 
ulator, originally  a  solicitor  in  Newcastle,  pausing 
to  help  no  man  in  his  steady  career  of  self-ad- 
vancement. To  the  minds  of  the  rabble  this 
magnate  represented  the  tyranny  against  which 
their  protest  was  raised.  Geoffrey  Horner  looked 
on  him  as  a  political  opponent  and  a  dangerous 
member  of  the  winning  party.  The  blow  was  easy 
to  strike.  Horner  hesitated  —  at  the  cross-roads  of 
other  lives  than  his  own  —  and  held  his  tongue. 

The  suggestion  of  the  unknown  humourist  in 
the  crowd  commended  itself  to  the  more  energetic 
of  the  party,  who  immediately  turned  toward  the 
bye-road  leading  to  Dene  Hall.      The  others,  the 


6  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

minority,  followed  as  minorities  do,  because  they 
distrusted  themselves.  Some  one  struck  up  a  song 
with  words  lately  published  in  the  Northern  Lib- 
erator, and  set   to   a  well  known  local  air. 

The  shooting  party  assembled  at  Dene  Hall  was 
still  at  the  dinner-table  as  the  malcontents  en- 
tered the  park,  and  the  talk  of  coverts  and  guns 
ceased  suddenly  at  the  sound  of  their  rough  voices. 
Sir  John  Pleydell,  a  young-looking  man  still  despite 
his  gray  hair  and  drawn,  careworn  face,  looked  up 
sharply.  He  had  been  sitting  silently  fingering  the 
stem  of  his  wine-glass  —  a  habit  of  his  when  the 
ladies  quitted  the  room  —  and  although  he  had  shot 
as  well  as,  perhaps  better  than  any  present,  had  taken 
but  little  part  in  the  conversation.  He  had,  in 
fact,  only  half  listened,  and  when  a  rare  smile 
passed  across  his  gray  face,  it  invariably  ov/ed  its 
existence  to  some  sally  made  by  his  son,  Alfred 
Pleydell  —  gay,  light-hearted,  d'ebonnaire  —  at  the 
far  end  of  the  table.  When  Sir  John's  thought- 
ful eyes  rested  on  his  motherless  son  a  dull  and 
suppressed  light  gleamed  momentarily  beneath  his 
heavy  lids.  Superficial  observers  said  that  John 
Pleydell  was  an  ambitious  man  ;  "  not  for  him- 
self," added  the  few  who  saw  deeper. 

When  his  quick  mind  now  took  in  the  import 
of  the  sound  that  broke  the  outer  silence  of  the 
night  Sir  John's  glance  sought  his  son's  face.  In 
moments  of  alarm  the  glance  flies  to  where  the 
heart  is. 


ONE   SOWS  7 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  said  Alfred  Pleydell,  stand- 
ing up. 

"  The  Chartists,"  said  Sir  John. 

Alfred  looked  round.  He  was  a  soldier,  though 
the  ink  had  hardly  dried  upon  the  parchment  that 
made  him  one  —  the  only  soldier  in  the  room. 

"  We  are  eleven  here,"  he  said,  "  and  two  men 
downstairs.  Some  of  you  fellows  have  your  valets, 
too  —  say  fifteen  in  all.  We  cannot  stand  this, 
you  know." 

As  he  spoke  the  first  volley  of  stones  crashed 
through  the  windows,  and  the  broken  glass  rattled 
to  the  floor  behind  the  shutters.  The  cries  of  the 
ladies  in  the  drawing-room  could  be  heard,  and  all 
the  men  sprang  to  their  feet.  With  blazing  eyes 
Alfred  Pleydell  ran  to  the  door,  but  his  father  was 
there  before  him. 

"  Not  you,"  said  the  elder  man,  quiet,  but  a  lit- 
tle paler  than  usual ;  "  I  will  go  and  speak  to  them. 
They  will  not  dare  to  touch  me.  They  are  prob- 
ably running  away  by  this  time." 

"  Then  we  '11  run  after  'em  !  "  answered  Alfred, 
with  a  fine  spirit,  and  something  in  his  attitude,  in 
the  ring  of  his  voice  awoke  that  demon  of  combat- 
iveness  which  lies  dormant  in  men  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  race. 

"  Come  on,  you  fellows  !  "  cried  the  boy,  with  a 
queer,  glad  laugh,  and  without  knowing  that  he  did 
it,  Sir  John  stood  aside,  his  heart  warm  with  a  sud- 
den pride,  his  blood  stirred  by  something  that  had 


8  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

not  moved  it  these  thirty  years.  The  guests 
crowded  out  of  the  room,  old  men  who  should 
have  known  better,  laughing  as  they  threw  aside 
their  dinner  napkins.  What  a  strange  thing  is 
man,  peaceful  through  long  years,  and  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice  a  mere  fighting  devil ! 

u  Come  on  ;  we  '11  teach  them  to  break  win- 
dows !  "  repeated  Alfred  Pleydell,  running  to  the 
stick-rack.  The  rain  rattled  on  the  skylight  of  the 
square  hall,  and  the  wind  roared  down  the  chimney. 
Among  the  men  hastily  arming  themselves  with 
heavy  sticks  and  cramming  caps  upon  their  heads 
were  some  who  had  tasted  of  rheumatism,  but  they 
never  thought  of  an  overcoat. 

"  We  '11  know  each  other  by  our  shirt-fronts," 
said  a  quiet  man,  who  was  standing  on  a  chair  in 
order  to  reach  an  Indian  club  suspended  on  the 
wall. 

Alfred  was  at  the  door  leading  through  to  the 
servants'  quarters,  and  his  summons  brought  sev- 
eral men  from  the  pantry  and   kitchens. 

"  Come  on  !  "  he  cried.  "  Take  anything  you 
can  find,  stick  or  poker — yes,  and  those  old  guns, 
use  'em  like  a  club.  Hit  very  hard  and  very  often. 
We  '11  charge  the  devils.  There  's  nothing  like  a 
charge.      Come  on  !  " 

And  he  was  already  out  of  the  door  with  a  dozen 
at  his  heels. 

The  change  from  the  lighted  rooms  to  the  outer 
darkness  made  them  pause  a  moment,  during  which 


ONE   SOWS  9 

time  the  defenders  had  leisure  to  group  themselves 
around  Alfred  Pleydell.  A  hoarse  shout,  which 
indeed  drowned  Geoffrey  Horner's  voice,  showed 
where  the  assailants  stood.  Horner  had  found  his 
tongue  after  the  first  volley  of  stones.  It  was  the 
policy  of  the  Chartist  leaders  and  wire-pullers  to 
suggest  rather  than  demonstrate  physical  force. 
Enough  had  been  done  to  call  attention  to  the 
Chester-le-Street  meeting,  and  give  it  the  desired 
prominence  in  the  eyes  of  the  nation. 

"  Get  back  !  Go  to  your  homes  !  "  he  was 
shouting,  with  upraised  arms,  when  the  hoarse 
shouts  of  his  adherents  and  the  flood  of  light 
from  the  opened  door  made  him  turn  hastily.  In  a 
moment  he  saw  the  meaning  of  this  development, 
but  it  was  too  late. 

With  a  cheer  Alfred  Pleydell,  little  more  than  a 
boy,  led  the  charge,  and,  seeing  Horner  in  front, 
ran  at  him  with  upraised  stick.  Horner  half 
warded  the  blow,  which  came  whistling  down  his 
own  stick  and  paralysed  his  thumb.  He  returned 
the  stroke  with  a  sudden  fury,  striking  Pleydell 
full  on  the  head.  Then,  because  he  had  a  young 
wife  and  child  at  home,  he  pushed  his  way  through 
the  struggling  crowd  and  ran  away  in  the  darkness. 
As  he  ran  he  could  hear  his  late  adherents  dispers- 
ing in  all  directions,  like  sheep  before  a  dog.  He 
heard  a  voice  calling  : 

"Alfred!   Alfred!" 

And  Horner,  who  an  hour  —  nay,  ten  minutes 


io  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

—  earlier  had  had  no  thought  of  violence,  ran  his 
fastest  along  the  road  by  which  he  had  lately  come. 
His  heart  was  as  water  within  his  breast,  and  his 
staring  eyes  played  their  part  mechanically.  He 
did  not  fall,  but  he  saw  nothing,  and  had  no  notion 
whither  he  was  running. 

Alfred   Pleydell  lay  quite  still  on  the  lawn  in 
front  of  his  father's  house. 


CHAPTER   II 

ANOTHER    REAPS 

"  Attempt  the  end  and  never  stand  in  doubt." 

During  the  course  of  a  harum-scarum  youth  in 
the  city  of  Dublin  certain  persons  had  been  known 
to  predict  that  Mr.  Frederick  Conyngham  had  a 
future  before  him.  Mostly  pleasant-spoken  Irish 
persons,  these,  who  had  the  racial  habit  of  saying 
that  which  is  likely  to  be  welcome.  Many  of 
them  added,  "  The  young  divil,"  under  their 
breath,  in  a  pious  hope  of  thereby  cleansing  their 
souls  from  guilt. 

"  I  suppose  I  'm  idle,  and  what  is  worse,  I  know 
I  'm  a  fool !  "  said  Fred  himself  to  his  tutor,  when 
that  gentleman,  with  a  toleration  which  was  unde- 
served, took  him  severely  to  task  before  sending 
him  up  for  the*  Bar  examination.  The  tutor  said 
nothing,  but  he  suspected  that  this,  his  wildest 
pupil,  was  no  fool.  Truth  to  tell,  Frederick 
Conyngham  had  devoted  little  thought  to  the  mat- 
ter of  which  he  spoke  —  namely,  himself,  and  was 
perhaps  none  the  worse  for  that.  A  young  man 
who  thinks  too  often  usually  falls  into  the  error  of 
also  thinking  too  much  of  himself. 


12  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

The  examination  was,  however,  safely  passed, 
and  in  due  course  Frederick  was  called  to  the  Irish 
Bar,  where  a  Queen's  Council,  with  an  accent  like 
rich  wine,  told  him  that  he  was  now  a  gintelman, 
and  entitled  so  to  call  himself. 

All  these  events  were  left  behind,  and  Conyng- 
ham,  sitting  alone  in  his  rooms  in  Norfolk  Street, 
Strand,  three  days  after  the  breaking  of  Sir  John 
Pleydell's  windows,  was  engaged  in  realising  that 
the  predicted  future  was  still  in  every  sense  before 
him,  and  in  no  wise  nearer  than  it  had  been  in  his 
mother's  lifetime. 

This  realisation  of  an  unpleasant  fact  appeared 
in  no  way  to  disturb  his  equanimity,  for  as  he 
knocked  his  pipe  against  the  bars  of  the  fire  he 
murmured  a  popular  air  in  a  careless  voice.  The 
firelight  showed  his  face  to  be  pleasant  enough,  in 
a  way  that  left  the  land  of  his  birth  undoubted. 
Blue  eyes,  quick  and  kind,  a  square  chin,  closely 
curling  hair,  and  square  shoulders  bespoke  an  Irish- 
man. Something,  however,  in  the  cut  of  his  lips 
—  something  close  and  firm  —  suggested  an  ad- 
mixture of  Anglo-Saxon  blood.  The  man  looked 
as  if  he  might  have  had  an  English  mother.  It 
was,  perhaps,  this  formation  of  the  mouth  that  had 
led  those  pleasant-spoken  persons  to  name  to  his 
relatives  their  conviction  that  Conyngham  had  a 
future  before  him.  The  best  liars  are  those  who 
base  their  fancy  upon  fact.  They  knew  that  the 
thoroughbred    Irishman    has    usually    a    cheerful 


ANOTHER   REAPS  13 

enough  life  before  him,  but  not  that  which  is 
vaguely  called  a  future.  Fred  Conyngham  looked 
like  a  man  who  could  hold  to  his  purpose,  but  at 
this  moment  he  also  had  the  unfortunate  appear- 
ance of  not  possessing  one  to  hold  to. 

He  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe,  and  held 
the  hot  brier  bowl  against  the  ear  of  a  sleeping 
fox-terrier,  which  animal  growled,  without  moving, 
in  a  manner  that  suggested  its  possession  of  a  sense 
of  humour,  and  a  full  comprehension  of  the  harm- 
less practical  joke. 

A  moment  later  the  dog  sat  up  and  listened 
with  an  interest  that  gradually  increased,  until  the 
door  opened  and  Geoffrey  Horner  came  into  the 
room. 

"  Faith,  it 's  Horner,"  said  Conyngham. 
"  Where     are     you     from  ?  " 

«  The  North." 

"  Ah  !  sit  down.  What  have  you  been  doing 
up  there  ?  tub-thumping  ?  " 

Horner  came  forward  and  sat  down  in  the  chair 
indicated.  He  looked  five  years  older  than  when 
he  had  last  been  there.  Conyngham  glanced  at 
his  friend,  who  was  staring  into  the  fire. 

"  Edith  all  right  ?  "  he  asked  carelessly. 

«  Yes." 

a  And  — the  little  chap  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

Conyngham  glanced  at  his  companion  again. 
Horner's  eyes  had  the  hard  look  that  comes  from 


i4  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

hopelessness ;  his  lips  were  dry  and  white.  He 
wore  the  air  of  one  whose  stake  in  the  game  of 
life  was  heavy,  who  played  that  game  nervously. 
For  this  was  an  ambitious  man,  with  wife  and  child 
whom  he  loved.  Conyngham's  attitude  toward 
Fate  was  in  strong  contrast.  He  held  his  head 
up  and  faced  the  world  without  encumbrance,  with- 
out a  settled  ambition,  without  any  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility at  all.  The  sharp-eyed  dog  on  the 
hearth-rug  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  A  mo- 
ment before  the  atmosphere  of  the  room  had  been 
one  of  ease  and  comfortable  assurance  —  an  atmos- 
phere that  some  men,  without  any  warrant  or  the 
justification  of  any  personal  success  or  distinction, 
seem  to  carry  with  them  through  life.  Since  Hor- 
ner had  crossed  the  threshold  the  ceaseless  hum  of 
life  in  the  streets  seemed  to  be  nearer,  the  sound 
of  it  louder  in  the  room ;  the  restlessness  of  that 
great  strife  stirred  the  air.  The  fox-terrier  laid 
himself  on  the  hearth-rug  again,  but  instead  of 
sleeping  watched  his  two  human  companions. 

Conyngham  filled  his  pipe.  He  turned  to  the 
table  where  the  match-box  stood  at  his  elbow,  took 
it  up,  rattled  it,  and  laid  it  down.  He  pressed 
the  tobacco  hard  with  his  thumb,  and,  turning  to 
Horner,  said  sharply  : 

«  What  is  it  ?  "  ' 

"I  don't  know  yet  —  ruin,  I  think." 

"  Nonsense,  man,"  said  Conyngham,  cheerily  ; 
"  there  is  no  such  thing  in  this  world  —  at  least, 


ANOTHER    REAPS  15 

the  jolliest  fellows  I  know  are  bankrupts  or  no 
better.  Look  at  me  —  never  a  brief;  literary  con- 
tributions returned  with  thanks ;  balance  at  the 
bank,  seventeen  pounds  ten  shillings ;  balance  in 
hand,  none  ;  debts,  the  Lord  only  knows  !  Look 
at  me.     I  'm  happy  enough." 

"  Yes  ;  you  're  a  lonely  devil." 

Conyngham  looked  at  his  friend  with  inquiry  in 
his  gay  eyes. 

"M-m!  perhaps  so.  I  live  alone,  if  that  is 
what  you  mean.  But  as  for  being  lonely  —  no, 
hang  it !  I  have  plenty  of  friends,  especially  at 
dividend  times." 

"  You  have  nobody  depending  on  you,"  said 
Horner,  with  the  irritability  of  sorrow. 

"  Because  nobody  is  such  a  fool.  On  the  other 
hand,  I  have  nobody  to  care  a  twopenny  curse 
what  becomes  of  me.  Same  thing,  you  see,  in  the 
end.  Come,  man,  cheer  up.  Tell  me  what  is 
wrong.  Seventeen  pounds  ten  shillings  is  not 
exactly  wealth,  but  if  you  want  it,  you  know  it  is 
there.     Eh  ? " 

"  I  do  not  want  it,  thanks,"  replied  the  other. 
"  Seventeen  hundred  would  be  no  good  to  me." 

He  paused,  biting  his  under  lip  and  staring  with 
hard  eyes  into  the  fire. 

"  Read  that,"  he  said  at  length,  and  handed 
Conyngham  a  cutting  from  a  daily  newspaper. 

The  younger  man  read  without  apparent  inter- 
est an  account   of  the   Chester-le-Street  meeting, 


16  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

and  the  subsequent  attack  on  Sir  John  Pleydell's 
house. 

"  Yes,"  he  commented ;  "  the  usual  thing. 
Brave  words  followed  by  a  cowardly  deed.  What 
in  the  name  of  fortune  you  were  doing  in  that 
galere,  you  yourself  know  best.  If  these  are  poli- 
tics, Horner,  I  say  drop  them.  Politics  are  a  stick, 
clean  enough  at  the  top,  but  you  've  got  hold  of 
the  wrong  end.  Young  Pleydell  was  hurt,  I  see 
— c  seriously,  it  is  feared.'  " 

"  Yes  !  "  said  Horner,  significantly,  and  his  com- 
panion, after  a  quick  look  of  surprise,  read  the  slip 
of  paper  carefully  a  second  time. 

Then  he  looked  up  and  met  Horner's  eyes. 

"  Gad  !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  whisper. 

Horner  said  nothing.  The  dog  moved  rest- 
lessly, and  for  a  moment  the  whole  world  —  that 
sleepless  world  of  the  streets  —  seemed  to  hold  its 
breath. 

"  And  if  he  dies  ?  "  said  Conyngham,  at  length. 

"  Exactly  so,"  answered  the  other,  with  a  laugh 
of  scaffold  mirth. 

Conyngham  turned  in  his  chair,  and  sat  with  his 
elbows  on  his  knees,  his  face  resting  on  his  closed 
fists,  staring  at  the  worn  old  hearth-rug.  Thus 
they  remained  for  some  minutes. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?  "  asked  Horner, 
at  length. 

"  Nothing ;  got  nothing  to  think  with,  you 
know  that,  Geoffrey.     Wish  I  had ;  never  wanted 


ANOTHER    REAPS 


17 


it  as  I  do  at  this  moment.  I  'm  no  good,  you 
know  that.  You  must  go  to  some  one  with  brains, 
some  clever  devil." 

As  he  spoke  he  turned  and  took  up  the  paper 
again,  reading  the  paragraph  slowly  and  carefully. 
Horner  looked  at  him  with  a  breathless  hunger  in 
his  eyes.  At  some  moments  it  is  a  crime  to  think, 
for  we  never  know  but  that  thought  may  be  trans- 
mitted without  so  much  as  a  whisper. 

"  The  miners  were  accompanied  by  a  gentle- 
man from  London,"  Conyngham  read  aloud,  "  a 
barrister,  it  is  supposed,  whose  speech  was  a  fea- 
ture at  the  Chester-le-Street  meeting.  This 
gentleman's  name  is  quite  unknown,  nor  has  his 
whereabouts  yet  been  discovered.  His  sudden  dis- 
appearance lends  likelihood  to  the  report  that  this 
unknown  agitator  actually  struck  the  blow  which 
injured  Mr.  Alfred  Pleydell.  Every  exertion  is 
being  put  forth  by  the  authorities  to  trace  the  man, 
who  is  possibly  a  felon  and  certainly  a  coward." 

Conyngham  laid  aside  the  paper  and  again 
looked  at  Horner,  who  did  not  meet  his  glance 
nor  ask  of  what  he  was  thinking.  Horner,  indeed, 
had  his  own  thoughts,  perhaps  of  the  fireside  — 
modest  enough,  but  happy  as  love  and  health  could 
make  it,  upon  which  his  own  ambition  had  brought 
down  the  ruins  of  a  hundred  castles  in  the  air  — 
thoughts  he  scarce  could  face,  and  yet  had  no 
power  to  drive  away,  of  the  young  wife  whose 
world  was  that  same  fireside  j  of  the  child,  perhaps, 


18  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

whose  coming  had  opened  for  a  time  the  door  of 
Paradise. 

Conyngham  broke  in  upon  these  meditations 
with  a  laugh. 

"  I  have  it !  "  he  cried.  "  It  's  as  simple  as 
the  alphabet.  This  paper  says  it  was  a  barrister, 
a  man  from  London,  a  malcontent,  a  felon  —  a 
coward.      Dammy,  Geoff,  that 's  me." 

He  leapt  to  his  feet.  "  Get  out  of  the  way, 
Jim ! "  he  cried  to  the  dog,  pushing  the  animal 
aside  and  standing  on  the  hearth-rug. 

"  Listen  to  this,"  he  went  on.  "  This  thing, 
like  the  others,  will  blow  over.  It  will  be  forgot- 
ten in  a  week.  Another  meeting  will  be  held,  say, 
in  South  Wales,  more  windows  will  be  broken, 
another  young  man's  head  cracked,  and  Chester-le- 
Street  (God-forsaken  place ;  never  heard  of  it)  will 
be  forgotten." 

Horner  sat  looking  at  the  young  Irishman  with 
hollow  eyes,  his  lips  twitching,  his  ringers  inter- 
locked. There  is  nothing  makes  so  complete  a 
coward  of  a  man  as  a  woman's  love.  Conyngham 
laughed  as  the  notion  unfolded  itself  in  his  mind. 
He  might,  as  he  himself  had  said,  be  of  no  great 
brain  power,  but  he  was,  at  all  events,  a  man,  and 
a  brave  one.  He  stood  a  full  six  foot,  and  looked 
down  at  his  companion,  who  sat  white-faced  and 
shrinking. 

"  It  is  quite  easy.,"  he  said,  "  for  me  to  disap- 
pear in  such  a  manner  as  to  arouse   suspicion.     I 


ANOTHER   REAPS  19 

have  nothing  to  keep  me  here.  My  briefs  .  .  . 
well,  the  Solicitor-General  can  have  'em  !  I  have 
no  ties — nothing  to  keep  me  in  any  part  of  the 
world.  When  young  Pleydell  is  on  his  feet  again, 
and  a  few  more  windows  have  been  broken,  and 
nine  days  have  elapsed,  the  wonder  will  give 
place  to  another,  and  I  can  return  to  my  .  .  . 
practice." 

"  I  could  n't  let  you  do  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  could,"  said  Conyngham,  with 
the  quickness  of  his  race  to  spy  out  his  neigh- 
bour's vulnerable  point.  "  For  the  sake  of  Edith 
and  the  little  devil." 

Horner  sat  silent,  and  after  a  moment  Conyng- 
ham went  on. 

"  All  we  want  to  do  is  to  divert  suspicion  from 
you  now,  to  put  them  on  a  false  scent,  for  they 
must  have  one  of  some  sort.  When  they  find 
that  they  cannot  catch  me,  they  will  forget  all 
about  it." 

Horner  shuffled  in  his  seat.  This  was  nothing 
but  detection  of  the  thoughts  that  had  passed 
through  his  own  mind. 

"  It  is  easy  enough  done,"  went  on  the  Irish- 
man. "  A  paragraph  here  and  there  in  some  of 
the  newspapers ;  a  few  incriminating  papers  left  in 
these  rooms,  which  are  certain  to  be  searched.  I 
have  a  bad  name  —  an  Irish  dog  goes  about  the 
world  with  a  rope  round  his  neck.  If  I  am 
caught,  it  will  not  be  for  some  time,  and  then  I 


20  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

can  get  out  of  it  somehow  —  an  alibi  or  some- 
thing. I  '11  get  a  brief,  at  all  events.  By  that 
time  the  scent  will  be  lost,  and  it  will  be  all  right. 
Come,  Geoff,  cheer  up !  A  man  of  your  sort 
ought  not  to  be  thrown  by  a  mischance  like  this." 

He  stood  with  his  legs  apart,  his  hands  thrust 
deep  into  his  pockets,  a  gay  laugh  on  his  lips,  and 
much  discernment  in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  d — n  Edith  !  "  he  added,  after  a  pause, 
seeing  that  his  efforts  met  with  no  response. 
"  D — n  that  child  !  You  used  to  have  some 
pluck,  Horner." 

Horner  shook  his  head  and  made  no  answer, 
but  his  very  silence  was  a  point  gained.  He  no 
longer  protested  nor  raised  any  objection  to  his 
companion's  harebrained  scheme.  The  thing  was 
feasible,  and  he  knew  it. 

Conyngham  went  on  to  set  forth  his  plans, 
which,  with  characteristic  rapidity  of  thought,  he 
evolved  as  he  spoke. 

"  Above  all,"  he  said,  "  we  must  be  prompt.  I 
must  disappear  to-night ;  the  paragraphs  must  be 
in  to-morrow's  papers.  I  think  I  '11  go  to  Spain. 
The  Carlists  seem  to  be  making  things  lively  there. 
You  know,  Horner,  I  was  never  meant  for  a  wig 
and  gown ;  there 's  no  doubt  about  it.  I  shall 
have  a  splendid  time  of  it  out  there." 

He  stopped,  meeting  a  queer  look  in  Horner's 
eyes,  who  sat  leaning  forward  and  searching  his 
face  with  jealous  glance. 


ANOTHER   REAPS  21 

"  I  was  wondering,"  said  the  other,  with  a  pale 
smile,  "  if  you  were  ever  in  love  with  Edith." 

"No,  my  good  soul,  I  was  not,"  answered 
Conyngham,  with  perfect  carelessness  ;  "  though  I 
knew  her  long  before  you  did." 

He  paused,  and  a  quick  thought  flashed  through 
his  mind  that  some  men  are  seen  at  their  worst  in 
adversity.  He  was  ready  enough  to  find  excuses 
for  Horner,  for  men  are  strange  in  the  gift  of  their 
friendship,  often  giving  it  where  they  know  it  is 
but  ill-deserved. 

He  rattled  on  with  unbroken  gaiety,  unfolding 
plans  which  in  their  perfection  of  detail  suggested 
a  previous  experience  in  outrunning  the  constable. 

While  they  were  still  talking  a  mutual  friend 
came  in,  a  quick-spoken  man,  already  beginning  to 
be  known  as  a  journalist  of  ability.  They  talked 
of  indifferent  topics  for  some  time.  Then  the 
newcomer  said  jerkily  : 

"  Heard  the  news  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Conyngham. 

"  Alfred  Pleydell,  young  fellow  who  resisted  the 
Chartist  rioters  in  Durham,  died  yesterday  morn- 
ing." 

Frederick  Conyngham  had  placed  himself  in 
front  of  Horner,  who  was  still  seated  in  the  low 
chair  by  the  fire.  He  found  Horner's  toe  with 
his   heel. 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  he  said  gravely.  "  Then  I  'm 
off." 


22  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 


u 


What  do  you  mean  ? "  asked  the  journalist, 
with  a  quick  look;  the  man  had  the  manner  of  a 
ferret. 

"  Nothing,  only  I  'm  off;  that 's  all,  old  man. 
And  I  cannot  ask  you  to  stay  this  evening,  you 
understand,  because  I  have  to  pack." 

He  turned  slowly  on  Horner,  who  had  recovered 
himself,  but  still  had  his  hand  over  his  face. 

"  Got  any  money,  Geoff?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes ;  I  have  twenty  pounds,  if  you  want  it," 
answered  the  other,  in  a  strangely  hoarse  voice. 

"I  do  want  it  —  badly." 

The  journalist  had  taken  up  his  hat  and  stick. 
He  moved  slowly  toward  the  door,  and  there  paus- 
ing saw  Horner  pass  the  bank-notes  to  Conyngham. 

"  You  had  better  go,  too,"  said  the  Irishman. 
"You  two  are  going  in  the  same  direction,  I 
know." 

Horner  rose,  and,  half  laughing,  Conyngham 
pushed  him  toward  the  door. 

"  See  him  home,  Blake,"  he  said.  "  Old  Horner 
has  the  blues  to-night." 


CHAPTER   III 

LIKE    SHIPS    UPON    THE    SEA 
"  No  one  can  be  more  wise  than  destiny." 


u 


What  are  we  waiting  for  ?  why,  two  more 
passengers,  grand  ladies,  as  they  tell  me,  and  the 
captain  has  gone  ashore  to  fetch  them,"  the  first 
mate  of  the  "  Granville  "  barque  of  London  made 
answer  to  Frederick  Conyngham,  and  he  breathed 
on  his  fingers  as  he  spoke,  for  the  northwest  wind 
was  blowing  across  the  plains  of  the  Medoc,  and 
the  sun  had  just  set  behind  the  smoke  of  Bordeaux. 
The  "  Granville  "  was  lying  at  anchor  in  the 
middle  of  the  Garonne  River,  having  safely  dis- 
charged her  deck  cargo  of  empty  claret  casks  and 
landed  a  certain  number  of  passengers.  There  are 
few  colder  spots  on  the  Continent  than  the  sunny 
town  of  Bordeaux  when  the  west  wind  blows  from 
Atlantic  wastes  in  winter  time.  A  fine  powder  of 
snow  scudded  across  the  flat  land,  which  presented 
a  bleak,  brown  face  patched  here  and  there  with 
white.  There  were  two  more  passengers  on  board 
the  u  Granville "  crouching  in  the  cabin,  two 
French  gentlemen   who   had   taken   passage   from 


24  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

London  to  Algeciras,  in  Spain,  on  their  way  to 
Algiers. 

Conyngham,  with  characteristic  good-nature, 
had  made  himself  so  entirely  at  home  on  board  the 
Mediterranean  trader,  that  his  presence  was  equally 
welcome  in  the  forecastle  and  the  captain's  cabin. 
Even  the  first  mate,  his  present  interlocutor,  a  grim 
man  given  to  muttered  abuse  of  his  calling,  and  a 
pious  pessimism  in  respect  to  human  nature,  gradu- 
ally thawed  under  the  influence  of  so  cheerful  an 
acceptance  of  heavy  weather  and  a  clumsy  deck- 
cargo. 

"  They  will  be  less  trouble  than  the  empty 
casks,  at  all  events,"  said  Conyngham,  "  because 
they  will  keep  below." 

The  sailor  shook  his  head  forebodingly,  and  took 
an  heroic  pinch  of  snufF. 

"  One  's  as  capable  of  carrying  mischief  as  the 
other,"  he  muttered,  in  the  bigoted  voice  ^>f  a 
married  teetotaler. 

The  ship  was  ready  for  sea,  and  this  mariner's 
spirit  was  ever  uneasy  and  restless  till  the  anchor 
was  on  deck  and  the  hawser  stowed. 

"  There 's  a  boat  leaving  the  quay  now,"  he 
added.  "  Seems  she 's  lumbered  up  forrard  wi' 
women's  hamper." 

And,  indeed,  the  black  form  of  a  skiff  so  laden 
could  be  seen  approaching  through  the  driving 
snow  and  gloom.  The  mate  called  to  the  steward 
to   come   on   deck,  and  this    bearded    servitor   of 


LIKE   SHIPS    UPON   THE    SEA       25 

dames  emerged  from  the  galley  with  up-rolled 
sleeves  and  a  fine  contempt  for  cold  winds.  A 
boy  went  forward  with  a  coil  of  rope  on  his  arm, 
for  the  tide  was  running  hard,  and  the  Garonne  is 
no  ladies'  pleasure  stream.  It  is  no  easy  matter  to 
board  a  ship  in  mid-current  when  tide  and  wind 
are  at  variance  and  the  fingers  so  cold  that  a  rope 
slips  through  them  like  a  log-line.  The  "  Gran- 
ville," having  still  on  board  her  cargo  of  coal  for 
Algeciras,  lay  low  in  the  water,  with  both  her 
anchors  out,  and  the  tide  singing  round  her  old- 
fashioned  hempen  hawsers. 

"  Now  see  ye  throw  a  clear  rope,"  shouted 
the  mate  to  the  boy,  who  had  gone  forward. 
The  proximity  of  the  land  and  the  approach  of 
women — a  bete  noire  no  less  dreaded  —  seemed 
to  flurry  the  brined  spirit  of  the  "  Granville's " 
mate. 

Perhaps  the  knowledge  that  the  end  of  a  rope, 
not  judged  clear,  would  inevitably  be  applied  to 
his  own  person,  shook  the  nerve  of  the  boy  on  the 
forecastle  ;  perhaps  his  hands  were  cold  and  his 
faculties  benumbed.  He  cast  a  line  which  seemed 
to  promise  well  at  first.  Two  coils  of  it  unfolded 
themselves  gradually  against  the  gray  sky,  and 
then  confusion  took  the  others  for  herself.  A 
British  oath  from  the  deck  of  the  ship  went  out  to 
meet  a  fine  French  explosion  of  profanity  from  the 
boat,  both  forestalling  the  splash  of  the  tangled 
rope  into  the  water  under  the  bows  of  the  ship, 


26  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

and  a  full  ten  yards  out  of  the  reach  of  the  man 
who  stood,  boat-hook  in  hand,  ready  to  catch  it. 
There  were  two  ladies  in  the  stem  of  the  boat 
muffled  up  to  the  eyes,  and  betokening  by  their 
attitude  the  hopeless  despair  and  misery  which 
seize  the  Southern  fair  the  moment  they  embark 
in  so  much  as  a  ferry-boat.  The  forepart  of  the 
heavy  craft  was  piled  up  with  trunks  and  other 
impedimenta  of  a  feminine  incongruity.  A  single 
boatman  had  rowed  the  boat  from  the  shore,  guid- 
ing it  into  mid-stream,  and  there  describing  a  circle 
calculated  to  ensure  a  gentle  approach  on  the  lee 
side.  This  man,  having  laid  aside  his  oars,  now 
stood,  boat-hook  in  hand,  awaiting  the  inevitable 
crash.  The  offending  boy  in  the  bows  was  mak- 
ing frantic  efforts  to  haul  in  his  misguided  rope, 
but  the  possibility  of  making  a  second  cast  was 
unworthy  of  consideration.  The  mate  muttered 
such  a  string  of  foreboding  expletives  as  augured 
ill  for  the  delinquent.  The  boatman  was  prepar- 
ing to  hold  on  and  fend  off  at  the  same  moment. 
A  sudden  gust  of  wind  gave  the  boat  a  sharp 
buffet,  just  as  the  man  grappled  the  mizzen-chains ; 
he  over-balanced  himself,  fell  and  recovered 
himself,  but  only  to  be  jerked  backward  into  the 
water  by  the  boat-hook,  which  struck  him  in  the 
chest. 

"A  moil"  cried  the  man,  and  disappeared  in 
the  muddy  water.  He  rose  to  the  surface  under 
the  ship's  quarter,  and  the  mate,  quick  as    light- 


LIKE    SHIPS    UPON   THE    SEA      27 

ning,  dumped  the  whole  coil  of  the  slack  of  the 
main  sheet  on  to  the  top  of  him.  In  a  moment 
he  was  at  the  level  of  the  rail,  the  mate  and  the 
steward  hauling  steadily  on  the  rope,  to  which  he 
clung  with  the  tenacity  and  somewhat  the  attitude 
of  a  monkey.  At  the  same  instant  a  splash  made 
the  rescuers  turn  in  time  to  see  Conyngham,  whose 
coat  lay  thrown  on  the  deck  behind  them,  rise  to 
the  surface  ten  yards  astern  of  the  "  Granville," 
and  strike  out  toward  the  boat,  now  almost  disap- 
pearing in  the  gloom  of  the  night. 

The  water,  which  had  flowed  through  the  sun- 
niest of  the  sunny  plains  of  France,  was  surpris- 
ingly warm,  and  Conyngham,  soon  recovering 
from  the  shock  of  his  dive,  settled  into  a  quick 
side-stroke.  The  boat  was  close  in  front  of  him, 
and  in  the  semi-darkness  he  could  see  one  of  the 
women  rise  from  her  seat  and  make  her  way  for- 
ward, while  her  companion  crouched  lower  and 
gave  voice  to  her  dismay  in  a  series  of  wails  and 
groans.  The  more  intrepid  lady  was  engaged  in 
lifting  one  of  the  heavy  oars,  when  Conyngham 
called  out  in  French  : 

"  Courage,  mesdames  !  I  will  be  with  you  in  a 
moment." 

Both  turned,  and  the  pallor  of  their  faces  shone 
whitely  through  the  gloom.  Neither  spoke,  and  in 
a  few  strokes  Conyngham  came  alongside.  He 
clutched  the  gunwale  with  his  right  hand  and  drew 
himself  breast-high. 


28  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  If  these  ladies,"  he  said,  "  will  kindly  go  to 
the  opposite  side  of  the  boat,  I  shall  be  able  to 
climb  in  without  danger  of  upsetting." 

"  If  mamma  inclines  that  way,  I  think  it  will  be 
sufficient,"  answered  the  muffled  form  which  had 
made  its  way  forward.  The  voice  was  clear  and 
low,  remarkably  self-possessed,  and  not  without  a 
suggestion  that  its  possessor  bore  a  grudge  against 
some  person  present. 

"  Perhaps  mademoiselle  is  right,"  said  Conyng- 
ham,  with  becoming  gravity,  and  the  lady  in  the  stern 
obeyed  her  daughter's  suggestion  with  the  result 
anticipated.  Indeed,  the  boat  heeled  over  with  so 
much  good  will,  that  Conyngham  was  lifted  right 
out  of  the  water.  He  clambered  on  board,  and 
immediately  began  shivering,  for  the  wind  cut  like 
a  knife. 

The  younger  lady  made  her  way  cautiousW 
back  to  the  seat  which  she  had  recently  quitted, 
and  began  at  once  to  speak  very  severely  to  her 
mother.  This  stout  and  emotional  person  was 
swaying  backward  and  forward,  and,  in  the  inter- 
vals of  wailing  and  groaning  called  in  Spanish  upon 
several  selected  saints  to  assist  her.  At  times,  and 
apparently  by  way  of  a  change,  she  appealed  to  yet 
higher  powers  to  receive  her  soul. 

"  My  mother,"  said  the  young  lady  to  Conyng- 
ham, who  had  already  got  the  oars  out,  "  has 
the  heart  of  a  rabbit  —  but  yes,  of  a  very  young 
rabbit ! " 


LIKE    SHIPS   UPON   THE    SEA      29 

"  Madame  may  rest  assured  that  there  is  no 
danger,"   said   Conyngham. 

u  Monsieur  is  an  Englishman  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  a  very  cold  one  at  the  moment.  If 
madame  could  restrain  her  religious  enthusiasm 
so  much  as  to  sit  still  we  should  make  better 
progress." 

He  spoke  rather  curtly,  as  if  refusing  to  admit 
the  advisability  of  manning  the  boat  with  a  crew 
of  black-letter  saints.  The  manner  in  which  the 
boat  leapt  forward  under  each  stroke  of  the  oars 
testified  to  the  strength  of  his  arms,  and  madame 
presently  subsided  into  whispers  of  thankfulness, 
having  reason,  it  would  seem,  to  be  content  with 
mere  earthly  aid  in  lieu  of  that  heavenly  interven- 
tion which  ladies  of  her  species  summon  at  every 
turn  of  life. 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  you,"  said  the  younger 
woman,  presently,  in  a  voice  and  manner  suggestive 
of  an  energy  unusual  to  her  countrywomen.  She 
spoke  in  French,  but  with  an  accent  somewhat 
round  and  full,  like  an  English  accent,  and  Conyng- 
ham divined  that  she  was  Spanish.  He  thought 
also  that  under  their  outer  wraps  the  ladies  wore 
the  mantilla,  and  had  that  graceful  carriage  of  the 
head  which  is  only  seen  in  the  Peninsula. 

"  Thank  you,  mademoiselle,  but  I  am  making 
good  progress  now.      Can  you  see  the  ship  ?  " 

She  rose  and  stood  peering  into  the  darkness 
ahead,  a  graceful,  swaying  figure.     A  faint  scent, 


3o  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

as  of  some  flower,  was  wafted  on  the  keen  wind  to 
Conyngham,  who  had  already  decided,  with  char- 
acteristic haste,  that  this  young  person  was  as 
beautiful  as  she  was   intrepid. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  ;  "  it  is  quite  clear.  They 
are  also  showing  lights  to  guide  us." 

She  stood  looking  apparently  over  his  head 
toward  the  "  Granville,"  but  when  she  spoke,  it 
would  seem  that  her  thoughts  had  not  been  fixed 
on  that  vessel. 

"  Is  monsieur  a  sailor  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No  ;  but  I  fortunately  have  a  little  knowledge 
of  such  matters  —  fortunate  since  I  have  been  able 
to  turn  it  to  the  use  of  these  ladies." 

"  But  you  are  travelling  in  the  c  Granville.' " 

"  Yes,  I  am  travelling  in  the  l  Granville.' " 

Over  his  oars  Conyngham  looked  hard  at  his 
interlocutrice,  but  could  make  out  nothing  of  her 
features.  Her  voice  interested  him,  however,  and 
he  wondered  whether  there  were  ever  calms  on  the 
coast  of  Spain  at  this  time  of  the  year. 

"  Our  sailors,"  said  the  young  lady,  "  in  Spain  are 
brave,  but  they  are  very  cautious.  I  think  none  of 
them  would  have  done  such  a  thing  as  you  have 
just  done  for  us.  We  were  in  danger.  I  knew 
it.     Was  it  not  so  ?  " 

"The  boat  might  have  drifted  against  some  ship 
at  anchor  and  have  upset ;  you  might  also  have 
been  driven  out  to  sea.  They  had  no  boat  on 
board  the  '  Granville  '  ready  to  put  out  and  follow 
vou." 


LIKE   SHIPS   UPON   THE    SEA       31 

"  Yes  ;  and  you  saved  us.  But  you  English  are 
of  a  great  courage.  And  my  mother,  instead  of 
thanking  you,  is  offering  her  gratitude  to  James 
and  John,  the  sons  of  Zebedee;  as  if  they  had 
done  it." 

"  I  am  no  relation  to  Zebedee,"  said  Conyng- 
ham,  with  a  gay  laugh  ;  "  madame  may  rest  assured 
of  that." 

"  Julia  !  "  said  the  elder  lady,  severely,  and  in  a 
voice  that  seemed  to  emanate  from  a  chest  as  deep 
and  hollow  as  an  octave  cask,  "  I  shall  tell  Father 
Concha,  who  will  assuredly  reprove  you.  The 
saints  upon  whom  I  called  were  fishermen,  and 
therefore  the  more  capable  of  understanding  our 
great  danger.  As  for  monsieur,  he  knows  that  he 
will  always  be  in  my  prayers." 

"  Thank  you,  madame,"  said  Conyngham, 
gravely. 

"  And  at  a  fitter  time  I  hope  to  tender  him  my 
thanks." 

At  this  moment  a  voice  from  the  "  Granville  " 
hailed  the  boat,  asking  whether  all  were  well  and 
Mr.  Conyngham  on  board.  Being  reassured  on 
this  point,  the  mate  apparently  attended  to  another 
matter  requiring  his  attention,  the  mingled  cries 
and  expostulations  of  the  cabin-boy  sufficiently 
indicating:  its   nature. 

The  boat,  under  Conyngham's  strong  and  steady 
strokes,  now  came  slowly  and  without  mishap 
alongside  the  great  black  hull  of  the  vessel,  and  it 


32  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS- 

soon  became  manifest  that,  although  all  danger 
was  past,  there  yet  remained  difficulty  ahead ; 
for  when  the  boat  was  made  fast  and  the  ladder 
lowered,  the  elder  of  the  two  ladies  firmly  and 
emphatically  denied  her  ability  to  make  its  ascent. 
The  French  boatman,  shivering  in  a  borrowed 
greatcoat,  and  with  a  vociferation  which  flavoured 
the  air  with  cognac,  added  his  entreaties  to  those 
of  the  mate  and  steward.  In  the  small  boat 
Conyngham,  in  French,  and  the  lady's  daughter, 
in  Spanish,  represented  that  at  least  half  of  the 
heavenly  host  having  intervened  to  save  her  from 
so  great  a  peril  as  that  safely  passed  through,  could 
surely  accomplish  this  smaller  feat  with  ease.  But 
the  lady  still  hesitated,  and  the  mate,  having  clam- 
bered down  into  the  boat,  grabbed  Conyngham's 
arm  with  a  large  and  not  unkindly  hand,  and 
pushed  him  forcibly  toward  the  ladder. 

"  You  had  n't  no  business,  Mr.  Conyngham," 
he  said  gruffly,  "  to  leave  the  ship  like  that,  and 
like  as  not  you  've  got  your  death  of  cold.  Just 
you  get  aboard  and  leave  these  women  to  me. 
You  get  to  your  bunk,  mister,  and  stooard  '11  bring 
you  something  hot." 

There  was  naught  but  obedience  in  the  matter, 
and  Conyngham  was  soon  between  the  blankets, 
alternately  shivering  and  burning  in  the  first  stages 
of  a  severe  chill. 

The  captain  having  come  on  board,  the  "  Gran- 
ville "  presently  weighed  anchor,  and  on  the  bosom 


LIKE   SHIPS    UPON   THE    SEA      33 
i 

of  an  ebbing   tide  turned  her  blunt   prow  toward 

the  winter  sea.     The  waves  out  there  beat  high, 

and    before    the    lights    of   Paullac,   then   a  mere 

cluster  of  fishers'   huts,  had   passed   away  astern, 

the  good  ship  was  lifting  her  bow  with  a  sense  of 

anticipation,  while  her    great   wooden  beams   and 

knees  began  to  strain  and  creak. 

During  the  following  days,  while  the  sense  of 
spring  and  warmth  slowly  gave  life  to  those  who 
could  breathe  the  air  on  deck,  Conyngham  lay  in 
his  little  cabin  and  heeded  nothing,  for  when  the 
fever  left  him  he  was  only  conscious  of  a  great 
lassitude,  and  scarce  could  raise  himself  to  take 
such  nourishment  as  the  steward,  with  a  rough  but 
kindly  skill,  prepared  for  him. 

"  Why  the  deuce  I  ever  came,  why  the  deuce  I 
ever  went  overboard  after  a  couple  of  senoras,  I 
don't  know,"  he  repeated  to  himself  during  the 
long-  hours  of  that  long  watch  below. 

Why,  indeed  ?  except  that  youth  must  needs  go 
forth  into  the  world  and  play  the  only  stake  it  owns 
there.  Nor  is  Frederick  Conyngham  the  first  who, 
having  no  knowledge  of  the  game  of  life,  throws 
all  upon  the  board  to  wait  upon  the  hazard  of 
a  die. 


CHAPTER   IV 

LE     PREMIER     PAS 
"  Be  as  one  that  knoweth  and  yet  holdeth  his  tongue." 

The  little  town  of  Algeciras  lies,  as  many  know, 
within  sight  of  Gibraltar,  and  separated  from  that 
stronghold  by  a  broad  bay.  It  is  on  the  mainland 
of  Spain,  and  in  direct  communication  by  road 
with  the  great  port  of  Cadiz.  Another  road, 
little  better  than  a  bridle-path,  runs  northward 
toward  Ximena,  and  through  the  corkwood  forests 
of  that  plain  toward  the  mountain  ranges  that  rise 
between  Ronda  and  the  sea. 

By  this  bridle-path,  it  is  whispered,  a  vast 
smuggled  commerce  has  ever  found  passage  to  the 
mainland,  and  scarce  a  boatman  or  passenger  lands 
at  Algeciras  from  Gibraltar  but  carries  somewhere 
on  his  person  as  much  tobacco  as  he  may  hope  to 
conceal  with  safety.  Algeciras,  with  its  fair, 
white  houses,  its  prim  church  and  sleepy  quay, 
where  the  blue  waters  lap  and  sparkle  in  innocent 
sunlight,  is,  it  is  to  be  feared,  a  town  of  small 
virtue,  and  the  habitation  of  scoundrels  ;  for  this 
is  the  stronghold  of  those  contrabandist  a  whom  song 
and  legend   have   praised  as  the  boldest,  the  merri- 


LE   PREMIER   PAS  35 

est,  the  most  romantic  of  law-breakers.  Indeed, 
in  this  country  the  man  who  can  boast  of  a 
smuggling  ancestry  holds  high  his  head  and  looks 
down  on  honest   folk. 

The  "  Granville,"  having  dropped  anchor  to  the 
north  of  the  rough  stone  pier,  was  soon  disburdened 
of  her  passengers,  the  ladies  going  ashore  with 
undisguised  delight,  and  leaving  behind  them  many 
gracious  messages  of  thanks  to  the  gentleman 
whose  gallantry  had  resulted  so  disastrously,  for 
Conyngham  was  still  in  bed,  though  now  nearly 
recovered.  Truth  to  tell,  he  did  not  hurry  to 
make  his  appearance  in  the  general  cabin,  and  came 
on  deck  a  few  hours  after  the  departure  of  the 
ladies,  whose  gratitude  he  desired  to  avoid. 

Two  days  of  the  peerless  sunshine  of  these 
southern  waters  completely  restored  him  to  health, 
and  he  prepared  to  go  ashore.  It  was  afternoon 
when  his  boat  touched  the  beach,  and  the  idlers, 
without  whom  no  Mediterranean  seaboard  is 
complete,  having  passed  the  heat  of  the  day  in  a 
philosophic  apathy,  amounting  in  many  cases  to  a 
siesta,  now  roused  themselves  sufficiently  to  take 
a  dignified  and  indifferent  interest  in  the  new 
arrival.  A  number  of  boys,  an  old  soldier,  several 
artillery  men  from  the  pretty  and  absolutely  useless 
fort,  a  priest,  and  a  female  vendor  of  oranges  put 
themselves  about  so  much  as  to  congregate  in  a 
little  knot  at  the  spot  where  Conyngham  landed. 

"  Body  of    Bacchus  !  "   said  the  priest,  with  a 


36  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

pinch  of  snuff  poised  before  his  long  nose  j  "  an 
Englishman.     See  his  gold  watch-chain." 

This  remark  called  forth  several  monosyllabic 
sounds,  and  the  onlookers  watched  the  safe  dis- 
charge of  Conyngham's  personal  effects  with  a 
characteristic  placidity  of  demeanour,  which  was 
at  once  tolerant  and  gently  surprised.  That  any 
one  should  have  the  energy  to  come  ashore  when 
he  was  comfortable  on  board,  or  leave  the  shore 
when  amply  provided  there  with  sunshine,  elbow- 
room,  and  other  necessaries  of  life,  presented  itself 
to  them  as  a  fact  worthy  of  note,  but  not  of 
emulation.  The  happiest  man  is  he  who  has 
reduced  the  necessities  of  life  to  a  minimum. 

No  one  offered  to  assist  Conyngham.  In  Spain 
the  onlooker  keeps  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"  The  English,  see  you,  travel  for  pleasure," 
said  the  old  soldier,  nodding  his  head  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Gibraltar,  pink  and  shimmering  across  the 
bay. 

The  priest  brushed  some  stray  grains  of  snuff 
from  the  front  of  his  faded  cassock,  once  black, 
but  now  of  a  greeny-brown.  He  was  a  singularly 
tall  man,  gaunt  and  gray,  with  deep  lines  drawn 
downward  from  eye  to  chin.  His  mouth  was 
large  and  tender,  with  a  humorous  corner  ever 
awaiting  a  jest.  His  eyes  were  sombre  and  deeply 
shaded  by  gray  brows,  but  one  of  them  had  a 
twinkle  lurking  and  waiting,  as  in  the  corner  of 
his  mouth. 


LE    PREMIER   PAS  37 

u  Every  one  stretches  his  legs  according  to  the 
length  of  his  coverlet,"  he  said,  and,  turning,  he 
courteously  raised  his  hat  to  Conyngham,  who 
passed  at  that  moment  on  his  way  to  the  hotel. 
The  little  knot  of  onlookers  broke  up,  and  the 
boys  wandered  toward  the  fort,  before  the  gate  of 
which  a  game  at  bowls  was  in  progress. 

"  The  padre  has  a  hungry  look,"  reflected 
Conyngham.     "  Think  I  '11  invite  him  to  dinner." 

For  Geoffrey  Horner  had  succeded  in  conveying 
more  money  to  the  man  who  had  taken  his  sins 
upon  himself,  and  while  Conyngham  possessed 
money  he  usually  had  the  desire  to  spend  it. 

Conyngham  went  to  the  Fonda  della  Marina, 
which  stands  to-day,  a  house  of  small  comfort  and 
no  great  outward  cleanliness ;  but,  as  in  most 
Spanish  inns,  the  performance  was  better  than  the 
promise,  and  the  bedroom  offered  to  the  traveller  was 
nothing  worse  than  bare  and  ill-furnished.  With 
what  Spanish  he  at  this  time  possessed  the  English- 
man made  known  his  wants,  and  inquired  of  the 
means  of  prosecuting  his  journey  to  Ronda. 

"  You  know  the  Captain-General  Vincente  of 
Ronda  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  But  yes ;  by  reputation.  Who  does  not  in 
Andalusia  ?  "  replied  the  host,  a  stout  man  who 
had  once  cooked  for  a  military  mess  at  Gibraltar, 
and  professed  himself  acquainted  with  the  require- 
ments of  English  gentlemen. 

"  I    have  a    letter    to    General    Vincente,    and 


38  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

must  go  to  Ronda  as  soon  as  possible.  These  are 
stirring  times  in  Spain." 

The  man's  bland  face  suddenly  assumed  an  air 
of  cunning,  and  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder  to  see 
that  none  overheard. 

"  Your  excellency  is  right,"  he  answered.  "  But 
for  such  as  myself  one  side  is  as  good  as  another. 
Is  it  not  so  ?  Carlist  or  Christino  —  the  money  is 
the  same." 

"  But  here  in  the  South  there  are  no  Carlists." 

"  Who  knows  ?  "  said  the  innkeeper,  with  out- 
spread hands.  "  Anything  that  his  excellency 
requires  shall  be  forthcoming,"  he  added  grandi- 
osely. "  This  is  the  dining-room,  and  here  at  the 
side  a  little  saloon  where  the  ladies  sit.  But  at 
present  we  have  only  gentlemen  in  the  hotel,  it 
being  the  winter  time." 

"  Then  you  have  other  guests  ? "  inquired 
Conyngham. 

"  But  yes ;  always.  In  Algeciras  there  are 
always  travellers  —  noblemen,  like  his  excellency, 
for  pleasure  ;  others  for  commerce,  the  government, 
the  politics." 

"  No  flies  enter  a  shut  mouth,  my  friend,"  said 
a  voice  at  the  door,  and  both  turned  to  see  the 
priest  who  had  witnessed  Conyngham's  arrival 
standing  in  the  doorway. 

"  Pardon3  senor,"  said  the  old  man,  coming 
forward  with  his  shabby  hat  in  his  hand  — "  pardon 
my  interruption.  I  came  at  an  opportune  moment, 
for  I  heard  the  word  politics." 


LE   PREMIER   PAS 


39 


He  turned  and  shook  a  lean  finger  at  the  inn- 
keeper, who  was  backing  toward  the  door  with 
many  bows. 

"  Ah,  bad  Miguel  !  "  he  said.  "  Will  you  make 
it  impossible  for  gentlemen  to  put  up  at  your  execra- 
ble inn  ?  The  man's  cooking  is  superior  to  his 
discretion,  senor.  I,  too,  am  a  traveller,  and  for 
the  moment  a  guest  here.  I  have  the  honour. 
My  name  is  Concha,  the  Padre  Concha,  a  priest, 
as  you  see." 

Conyngham  nodded  and  laughed  frankly. 

"  Glad  to  meet  you,"  he  said.  "  I  saw  you  as 
I  came  along.  My  name  is  Conyngham,  and  I 
am  an  Englishman,  as  you  hear.  I  know  very 
little  Spanish." 

"  That  will  come,  that  will  come,"  said  the 
priest,  moving  toward  the  window.  "  Perhaps  too 
soon,  if  you  are  going  to  stay  any  length  of  time  in 
this  country.  Let  me  advise  you ;  do  not  learn 
our  language  too  quickly." 

He  shook  his  head  and  moved  toward  the  open 
window. 

"  See  to  your  girths  before  you  mount.  Eh  ? 
Here  is  the  veranda,  where  it  is  pleasant  in  the 
afternoon.  Shall  we  be  seated  ?  That  chair  has 
but  three  legs.      Allow  me  ;  this  one  is  better." 

He  spoke  with  the  grave  courtesy  of  his  country- 
men, for  every  Spaniard,  even  the  lowest  muleteer, 
esteems  himself  a  gentleman,  and  knows  how  to 
act  as  such.     The  Padre  Concha  had  a  pleasant 


40  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

voice,  and  a  habit  of  gesticulating  slowly  with  one 
large  and  not  too  clean  hand  that  suggested  the 
pulpit.  He  had  led  the  way  to  a  spacious  veranda, 
where  there  were  small  tables  and  chairs,  and  at 
the  outer  corners  orange-trees  in  square  green 
boxes. 

"  We  will  have  a  bottle  of  wine.  Is  it  not  so  ? 
Yes,"  he  said,  and  gravely  clapped  his  hands  to- 
gether to  summon  the  waiter,  an  Oriental  custom 
still  in  use  in  the  Peninsula. 

The  wine  was  brought  and  duly  uncorked,  dur- 
ing which  ceremony  the  priest  waited  and  watched 
with  the  preoccupied  air  of  a  host  careful  for  the 
entertainment  of  his  guest.  He  tasted  the  wine 
critically. 

"  It  might  be  worse,"  he  said.  "  I  beg  you  to 
excuse  it  not  being  better." 

There  was  something  simple  in  the  old  man's 
manner  that  won  Conyngham's  regard. 

"  The  wine  is  excellent,"  he  said.  "  It  is  my 
welcome  to  Spain." 

"  Ah  !  Then  this  is  your  first  visit  to  this 
country,"  the  priest  said  indifferently,  his  eyes 
wandering  to  the  open  sea,  where  a  few  feluccas 
lay  becalmed. 

«  Yes." 

Conyngham  turned  and  looked  toward  the  sea 
also.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  a  certain 
drowsiness  of  the  atmosphere  made  conversation 
even    between    comparative    strangers   a    slower, 


LE    PREMIER   PAS  41 

easier  matter  than  with  us  in  the  brisk  North. 
After  a  moment  the  Englishman  turned  with,  per- 
haps, the  intention  of  studying  his  companion's 
face,  only  to  find  the  deep  gray  eyes  fixed  on  his 
own. 

"  Spain,"  said  the  padre,  "  is  a  wonderful  coun- 
try —  rich,  beautiful,  with  a  climate  like  none  in 
Europe ;  .  .  .  but  God  and  the  devil  come  to 
closer  quarters  here  than  elsewhere.  Still,  for  a 
traveller  —  for  pleasure  —  I  think  this  country  is 
second  to  none." 

"  I  am  not  exactly  a  traveller  for  pleasure,  my 
father." 

"  Ah  ! "  and  Concha  drummed  idly  on  the 
table  with  his  fingers. 

"  I  left  England  in  haste,"  added  Conyngham, 
lightly. 

"  Ah  !  " 

"  And  it  will  be  inexpedient  for  me  to  return  for 
some  months  to  come.  I  thought  of  taking  ser- 
vice in  the  army,  and  have  a  letter  to  General 
Vincente,  who  lives  at  Ronda,  as  I  understand, 
sixty  miles  from  here,  across  the  mountains." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  priest,  thoughtfully  ;  "  Ronda  is 
sixty  miles  from  here,  across  the  mountains." 

He  was  watching  a  boat,  which  approached  the 
shore  from  the  direction  of  Gibraltar.  The  wind 
having  dropped,  the  boatmen  had  lowered  the  sail 
and  were  now  rowing,  giving  voice  to  a  song, 
which  floated  across  the  smooth  sea  sleepily.     It 


42  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

was  an  ordinary  Algeciras  wherry,  built  to  carry  a 
little  cargo  and  perhaps  a  dozen  passengers,  a  fish- 
ing-boat that  smelt  strangely  of  tobacco.  The 
shore  was  soon  reached,  and  the  passengers,  num- 
bering half  a  dozen,  stepped  over  the  gunwale  on 
to  a  small  landing-stage.  One  of  them  was 
better  dressed  than  his  companions,  a  smart  man 
with  a  bright  flower  in  the  buttonhole  of  his 
jacket,  carrying  the  flowing  cloak,  brightly  lined 
with  coloured  velvet,  without  which  no  Spaniard 
goes  abroad  at  sunset.  He  looked  toward  the  hotel, 
and  was  evidently  speaking  of  it  with  a  boatman, 
whose  attitude  was  full  of  promise  and  assurance. 

The  priest  rose  and  emptied  his  glass. 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  me.  Vespers  wait 
for  no  man,  and  I  hear  the  bell,"  he  said  with  a 
grave  bow,  and  went  indoors. 

Left  to  himself,  Conyngham  lapsed  into  the 
easy  reflections  of  a  man  whose  habit  it  is  to  live 
for  the  present,  leaving  the  future  and  the  past  to 
take  care  of  themselves.  Perhaps  he  thought,  as 
some  do,  that  the  past  dies  —  which  is  a  mistake. 
The  past  only  sleeps,  and  we  carry  it  with  us 
through  life,  slumbering.  Those  are  wise  who 
bear  it  gently,  so  that  it  may  never  be  aroused. 

The  sun  had  set,  and  Gibraltar,  a  huge  couchant 
lion  across  the  bay,  was  fading  into  the  twilight  of 
the  east,  when  a  footstep  in  the  dining-room  made 
Conyngham  turn  his  head,  half  expecting  the 
return     of    Father    Concha.      But    in   the    door- 


LE   PREMIER   PAS 


43 


way,  and  with  the  evident  intention  of  coming 
toward  himself,  Conyngham  perceived  a  handsome, 
dark-faced  man,  of  medium  height,  with  a  smart 
moustache  brushed  upward,  clever  eyes,  and  the 
carriage  of  a  soldier.  This  stranger  unfolded  his 
cloak,  for  in  Spain  it  is  considered  ill-mannered  to 
address  a  stranger  and  remain  cloaked. 

"  Sefior,"  he  said,  with  a  gesture  of  the  hat 
courteous,  and  yet  manly  enough  to  savour  more 
of  the  camp  than  the  court  —  "  sefior,  I  under- 
stand that  you  are  journeying  to  Ronda." 

«  Yes." 

"  I,  too,  intended  to  go  across  the  mountains, 
and  hoped  to  arrive  here  in  time  to  accompany 
friends,  who,  I  hear,  have  already  started  on  their 
journey.  I  have  also  received  letters  which  neces- 
sitate my  return  to  Malaga.  You  have  already 
divined  that  I  come  to  ask  a  favour." 

He  brought  forward  a  chair  and  sat  down, 
drawing  from  his  pocket'  a  silver  cigarette-case, 
which  he  offered  to  the  Englishman.  There  was 
a  certain  picturesqueness  in  the  man's  attitude  and 
manner.  His  face  and  movements  possessed  a 
suggestion  of  energy  which  seemed  out  of  place 
here  in  the  sleepy  South,  and  stamped  him  as  a 
native,  not  of  dreamy  Andalusia,  but  of  La 
Mancha,  perhaps,  where  the  wit  of  Spain  is  con- 
centrated ;  or  of  fiery  Catalonia,  where  discontent 
and  unrest  are  in  the  very  atmosphere  of  the  brown 
hills.     This  was  a  Spanish  gentleman  in  the  best 


44  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

sense  of  the  word,  as  scrupulous  in  personal  clean- 
liness as  any  Englishman,  polished,  accomplished, 
bright,  and  fascinating,  and  yet  carrying  with  him 
a  subtle  air  of  melancholy  and  romance  which 
lingers  still  among  the  men  and  women  of  aristo- 
cratic Spain. 

"  'T  is  but  to  carry  a  letter,"  he  explained, 
"  and  to  deliver  it  into  the  hand  of  the  per- 
son to  whom  it  is  addressed.  Ah,  I  would  give 
five  years  of  life  to  touch  that  hand  with  my 
lips !  " 

He  sighed,  gave  a  little  laugh  which  was  full  of 
meaning,  and  yet  quite  free  from  self-conscious- 
ness, and  lighted  a  fresh  cigarette.  Then,  after  a 
little  pause,  he  produced  the  letter  from  an  inner 
pocket,  and  laid  it  on  the  table  in  front  of 
Conyngham.  It  was  addressed,  "  To  the  Seno- 
rita  G.  B.,"  and  had  a  subtle  scent  of  mignonette. 
The  envelope  was  of  a  delicate  pink. 

"  A  love-letter,"  said  Conyngham,  bluntly. 

The  Spaniard  looked  at  him  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"  Ah  !  you  do  not  understand,"  he  said,  "  in 
that  cold  country  of  the  North.  If  you  stay  in 
Spain  perhaps  some  dark-eyed  one  will  teach  you. 
But,"  and  his  manner  changed  with  theatrical 
rapidity  as  he  laid  his  slim  hand  on  the  letter,  "  if, 
when  you  see  her,  you  love  her,  I  will  kill  you." 

Conyngham  laughed  and  held  out  his  hand  for 
the  letter. 


LE    PREMIER   PAS  45 

"  It  is  insufficiently  addressed,"  he  said  practi- 
cally.    "  How  shall  I  find  this  lady  ?  " 

"  Her  name  is  Barenna  —  the  Senorita  Barenna. 
That  is  sufficient  in  Ronda." 

Conyngham  took  up  the  letter  and  examined 
it. 

"  It  is  of  importance,"  he  said. 

"  Of  the  utmost." 

«  And  of  value  ?  " 

"  Of  the  greatest  value  in  the  world  to  me." 

The  Spaniard  rose  and  took  up  his  cloak,  which 
he  had  thrown  over  the  back  of  the  nearest  chair, 
not  forgetting  to  display  a  picturesque  corner  of  its 
bright  lining. 

"  You  swear  you  will  deliver  it,  only  with  your 
own  hand,  only  to  the  hand  of  the  Senorita 
Barenna !  And  you  will  observe  the  strictest 
secrecy." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  Conyngham,  carelessly  ; 
"  if  you  like." 

The  Spaniard  turned,  and  leaning  one  hand  on 
the  table,  looked  almost  fiercely  into  his  compan- 
ion's face. 

"  You  are  an  Englishman,"  he  said,  "  and  an 
Englishman's  word  —  is  it  not  known  all  the  world 
over ?  " 

"  In  the  North,  in  my  country,  where  Welling- 
ton fought,  the  peasants  still  say,  l  Word  of  an 
Englishman,'  instead  of  an  oath." 

He   threw    his     cloak    over    his    shoulder  and 


46  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

stood  looking  down  at  his  companion  with  a  little 
smile,  as  if  he  were  proud  of  him. 

"  There  !  "  he  said.  "  Adios.  My  name  is 
Larralde ;  but  that  is  of  no  consequence.     Adios" 

With  a  courteous  bow  he  took  his  leave,  and 
Conyngham  presently  saw  him  walking  down  to 
the  landing-stage.  It  seemed  that  this  strange 
visitor  was  about  to  depart  as  abruptly  as  he  had 
come.  Convngham  rose  and  walked  to  the  edge 
of  the  veranda,  where  he  stood  watching  the  de- 
parture of  the  boat  in  which  his  new  friend  had 
taken  passage. 

While  he  was  standing  there  the  old  priest 
came  quietly  out  of  the  open  window  of  the  din- 
ing-room. He  saw  the  letter  lying  on  the  table 
where  Conyngham  had  left  it.  He  approached, 
his  shabby  old  shoes  making  no  sound  on  the 
wooden  flooring,  and  read  the  address  written 
on  the  pink  and  scented  envelope.  When  the 
Englishman  at  length  turned  he  was  alone  on  the 
veranda  with  the  wine-bottle,  the  empty  glasses, 
and  the  letter. 


CHAPTER  V 

CONTRABAND 

««  What  rights  are  his  that  dares  not  strike  for  them  ?  " 

An  hour  before  sunrise  two  horses  stood  shuffling 
their  feet  and  chewing  their  bits  before  the  hotel 
of  the  Marina  at  Algeciras,  while  their  owner,  a 
short  and  thick-set  man  of  an  exaggeratedly  vil- 
lainous appearance,  attended  to  such  straps  and 
buckles  as  he  suspected  of  latent  flaws.  The 
horses  were  lean  and  loose  of  ear,  with  a  melan- 
choly thoughtfulness  of  demeanour  that  seemed 
to  suggest  the  deepest  misgivings  as  to  the  future. 
Their  saddles  and  other  accoutrements  were  frankly 
theatrical,  and  would  have  been  at  once  the  delight 
of  an  artist  and  the  despair  of  a  saddler.  Fringes 
and  tassels  of  bright-coloured  worsted  depended 
from  points  where  fringes  and  tassels  were  dis- 
tinctly out  of  place.  Where  the  various  straps 
should  have  been  strong  they  looked  weak,  and 
scarce  a  buckle  could  boast  an  innocence  of  knot- 
ted string.  The  saddles  were  of  wood,  and  calcu- 
lated to  inflict  serious  internal  injuries  to  the  rider 
in  case  of  a  fall.  They  stood  at  least  a  foot  above 
the  horse's  backbone,  raised  on  a  thick  cushion 
upon  the  ribs  of  the  animal,  and  leaving  a  space  in 


48  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

the  middle  for  the  secretion  of  tobacco  and  other 
contraband  merchandise. 

"  I  '11  take  the  smallest  cutthroat  of  the  crew," 
Conyngham  had  said  on  the  occasion  of  an  infor- 
mal parade  of  guides  the  previous  evening.  And 
the  host  of  the  Fonda,  in  whose  kitchen  the  func- 
tion had  taken  place,  explained  to  Concepcion  Vara 
that  the  English  excellency  had  selected  him  on 
his,  the  host's,  assurance  that  Algeciras  contained 
no  other  so  honest. 

"  Tell  him,"  answered  Concepcion,  with  a  cig- 
arette between  his  lips  and  a  pardonable  pride  in 
his  eyes,  "  that  my  grandfather  was  a  smuggler, 
and  my  father  was  shot  by  the  guardia  civile  near 
Algatocin." 

Concepcion,  having  repaired  one  girth  and  shaken 
his  head  dubiously  over  another,  lighted  a  fresh 
cigarette  and  gave  a  little  shiver,  for  the  morning 
air  was  keen.  He  discreetly  coughed.  He  had 
seen  Conyngham  breakfasting  by  the  light  of  a 
dim  oil  lamp  of  a  shape  and  make  unaltered  since 
the  days  of  Nebuchadnezzar,  and  without  appear- 
ing impatient  wished  to  convey  to  one  gentleman 
the  fact  that  another  awaited  him. 

Before  long  Conyngham  appeared,  having  paid 
an  iniquitous  bill  with  the  recklessness  that  is  only 
thoroughly  understood  by  the  poor.  He  appeared 
as  usual  to  be  at  peace  with  all  men,  and  returned 
his  guide's  grave  salutation  with  an  easy  nod. 

"  These  the  horses  ?  "  he  inquired. 


CONTRABAND  49 

Concepcion  Vara  spread  out  his  hands. 

"  They  have  no  equal  in  Andalusia,"  he  said. 

"  Then  I  am  sorry  for  Andalusia,"  answered 
Conyngham,  with  a  pleasant  laugh. 

They  mounted  and  rode  away  in  the  dim,  cool 
light  of  the  morning.  The  sea  was  of  a  deep  blue, 
and  rippled  all  over  as  in  a  picture.  Gibraltar,  five 
miles  away,  loomed  up  like  a  gray  cloud  against 
the  pink  of  sunrise.  The  whole  world  wore  a 
cleanly  look,  as  if  the  night  had  been  passed  over 
its  face  like  a  sponge  wiping  away  all  that  was 
unsightly  or  evil.  The  air  was  light  and  exhila- 
rating, and  scented  by  the  breath  of  aromatic  weeds 
growing  at  the  roadside. 

Concepcion  sang  a  song  as  he  rode  —  a  song 
almost  as  old  as  his  trade  —  declaring  that  he  was 
a  smuggler  bold.  And  he  looked  it,  every  inch. 
The  road  to  Ronda  lies  through  the  corkwoods  of 
Ximena,  leaving  St.  Roque  on  the  right  hand ; 
such  at  least  was  the  path  selected  by  Conyng- 
ham's  guide ;  for  there  are  many  ways  over  the 
mountains,  and  none  of  them  to  be  recommended. 
Beguiling  the  journey  with  cigarette  and  song, 
calling  at  every  venta  on  the  road,  exchanging 
chaff  with  every  woman  and  a  quick  word  with  all 
men,  Concepcion  faithfully  fulfilled  his  contract, 
and  as  the  moon  rose  over  the  distant  snow-clad 
peaks  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  pointed  forward  to  the 
lights  of  Gaucin,  a  mountain  village  with  an  evil 
reputation. 

4 


5o  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

The  dawn  of  the  next  day  saw  the  travellers  in 
the  saddle  again,  and  the  road  was  worse  than  ever. 
A  sharp  ascent  led  them  up  from  Gaucin  to  re- 
gions where  foliage  grew  scarcer  at  every  step 
and  cultivation  was  unknown.  At  one  spot  they 
turned  to  look  back,  and  saw  Gibraltar  like  a  tooth 
protruding  from  the  sea.  The  straits  had  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  river,  and  the  high  land  behind  Ceuta 
formed  the  farther  bank  of  it. 

u  There  is  Africa,"  said  Concepcion,  gravely, 
and  after  a  moment  turned  his  horse's  head  uphill 
again.  The  people  of  these  mountain  regions  were 
as  wild  in  appearance  as  their  country.  Once 
or  twice  the  travellers  passed  a  shepherd  herding 
sheep  or  goats  on  the  mountain-side,  himself  clad 
in  goatskin  with  a  great  brown  cloak  floating  from 
his  shoulders,  a  living  picture  of  Ishmael  or  those 
wild  sons  of  his  who  dwelt  in  the  tents  of  Kedar. 
A  few  muleteers  drew  aside  to  let  the  horses  pass, 
and  exchanged  some  words  in  an  undertone  with 
Conyngham's  guide.  Fine-looking  brigands  were 
these,  with  an  armoury  of  knives  peeping  from 
their  bright-coloured  waistbands.  The  Andalusian 
peasant  is,  for  six  days  in  the  week,  calculated  to 
inspire  awe  by  his  clothing  and  general  appearance. 
Of  a  dark  skin  and  hair,  he  usually  submits  his 
chin  to  the  barber's  office  but  once  a  week,  and 
the  timid  traveller  would  do  well  to  take  the  road 
on  Sundays  only.  Toward  the  end  of  the  week, 
and  notably  on  a  Saturday,  every  passer-by  is  an 


CONTRABAND  51 

unshorn  brigand,  capable  of  the  darkest  deeds  of 
villainy,  while  twenty-four  hours  later  the  land  will 
be  found  to  be  peopled  by  as  clean  and  honest  and 
smart,  and  withal  as  handsome,  a  race  of  men  as 
any  on  earth. 

Before  long  all  habitations  were  left  behind,  and 
the  horses  climbed  from  rock  to  rock  like  cats. 
There  was  no  suggestion  of  pathway  or  landmark, 
and  Concepcion  paused  once  or  twice  to  take  his 
bearings.  It  was  about  two  in  the  afternoon  when, 
after  descending  the  bed  of  a  stream  long  since 
dried  up,  Concepcion  called  a  halt,  and  proposed 
to  rest  the  horses  while  he  dined.  As  on  the 
previous  day,  the  guide's  manner  was  that  of  a 
gentleman,  conferring  a  high  honour  with  becom- 
ing modesty,  when  he  sat  down  beside  Conyngham 
and  untied  his  small  sack  of  provisions.  These 
consisted  of  dried  figs  and  bread,  which  he  offered 
to  his  companion  before  beginning  to  eat.  Con- 
vno-ham  shared  his  own  stock  of  food  with  his 
guide,  and  subsequently  smoked  a  cigarette  which 
that  gentleman  offered  him.  They  were  thus 
pleasantly  engaged  when  a  man  appeared  on  the 
rocks  above  them,  in  a  manner  and  with  a  haste 
that  spoke  but  ill  of  his  honesty.  The  guide 
looked  up,  knife  in  hand,  and  made  answer  to  a 
gesture  of  the  arm  with  his  own  hand  upraised. 

"  Who  is  this  ?  "  said  Conyngham.  "  Some 
friend  of  yours  ?  Tell  him  to  keep  his  distance, 
for  I  don't  care  for  his  appearance." 


52  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  He  is  no  friend  of  mine,  excellency.  But  the 
man  is,  I  dare  say,  honest  enough.  In  these 
mountains  it  is  only  of  the  guardia  civile  that  one 
must  beware.  They  have  ever  the  finger  on  the 
trigger,  and  shoot  without  warning." 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  the  Englishman,  now 
thoroughly  on  the  alert,  "  let  him  state  his  busi- 
ness at  a  respectable  distance.  Ah  !  he  has  a 
comrade  and  two  mules." 

And,  indeed,  a  second  man  of  equally  unpre- 
possessing exterior  now  appeared  from  behind  a 
great  rock  leading  a  couple  of  heavily  laden 
mules. 

Concepcion  and  the  first  traveller,  who  was 
now  within  a  dozen  yards,  were  already  exchang- 
ing words  in  a  patois  not  unlike  the  Limousin 
dialect,  of  which  Conyngham  understood  nothing. 

"  Stop  where  you  are,"  shouted  the  Englishman 
in  Spanish,  "  or  else  I  shoot  you !  If  there  is 
anything  wrong,  Senor  Vara,"  he  added  to  the 
guide,  "  I  shoot  you  first  ;  understand  that." 

"  He  says,"  answered  Concepcion,  with  dignity, 
"  that  they  are  honest  traders  on  the  road  to  Ronda, 
and  would  be  glad  of  our  company.  His  excel- 
lency is  at  liberty  to  shoot  if  he  is  so  disposed." 

Conyngham  laughed. 

"  No,"  he  answered ;  "  I  am  not  anxious  to 
kill  any  man,  but  each  must  take  care  of  himself 
in  these  times." 

"  Not  against  an  honest  smuggler." 


CONTRABAND 


53 


"  Are  these  smugglers  ?  " 

"  They  speak  as  such.  I  know  them  no  more 
than  does  his  excellency." 

The  second  newcomer  was  now  within  hail, 
and  began  at  once  to  speak  in  Spanish.  The  tale 
he  told  was  similar  in  every  way  to  that  translated 
by  Concepcion  from  the  Limousin  dialect. 

"  Why  should  we  not  travel  together  to  Ronda  ?  " 
he  said,  coming  forward  with  an  easy  air  of  con- 
fidence, which  was  of  better  efFect  than  any  pro- 
testation of  honesty.  He  had  a  quiet  eye  and  the 
demeanour  of  one  educated  to  loftier  things  than 
smuggling  tobacco  across  the  Sierra,  though,  indeed, 
he  was  no  better  clad  than  his  companion.  The 
two  guides  instinctively  took  the  road  together, 
Concepcion  leading  his  horse,  for  the  way  was 
such  that  none  could  ride  over  it.  Conyngham 
did  the  same,  and  his  companion  led  the  mule  by  a 
rope,  as  is  the  custom  in  Andalusia. 

The  full  glare  of  the  day  shone  down  on  them, 
the  bare  rock  giving  back  a  puff  of  heat  that  dried 
the  throat.  Conyngham  was  tired,  and  not  too 
trustful  of  his  companion,  who,  indeed,  seemed  to 
be  fully  occupied  with  his  own  thoughts.  They 
had  thus  progressed  a  full  half  hour,  when  a  shout 
from  the  rocks  above  caused  them  to  halt  sud- 
denly. The  white  linen  head-coverings  of  two 
guardla  civile  and  the  glint  of  the  sun  on  their 
accoutrements  showed  at  a  glance  that  this  was 
not  a  summons  to  be  disregarded. 


54  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

In  an  instant  Concepcion's  companion  was  leap- 
ing from  rock  to  rock,  with  an  agility  only  to  be 
acquired  in  the  hot  fear  of  death.  A  report  rang 
out  and  echoed  among  the  hills.  A  bullet  went 
"  splat  "  against  a  rock  near  at  hand,  making  a 
frayed  blue  mark  upon  the  gray  stone.  The  man 
dodged  from  side  to  side,  in  the  panic-stricken 
irresponsibility  of  a  rabbit  seeking  covert  where 
none  exists.  There  was  not  so  much  as  to  hide 
his  head.  Conyngham  looked  up  toward  the  foe  in 
time  to  see  a  puff  of  white  smoke  thrown  up  against 
the  steely  sky.  A  second  report,  and  the  fugitive 
seemed  to  trip  over  a  stone ;  he  recovered  himself, 
stood  upright  for  a  moment,  gave  a  queer,  splutter- 
ing cough,  and  sat  slowly  down  against  a  boulder. 

"  He  is  killed  !  "  said  Concepcion,  throwing 
down  his  cigarette.  "  Mother  of  God,  these 
guard! a   civile  !  " 

The  two  guards  came  clambering  down  the  face 
of  the  rock.  Concepcion  glanced  at  his  late  com- 
panion writhing  in  the  sharpness  of  death. 

"  Here  or  at  Ronda ;  to-day  or  to-morrow ; 
what  matters  it  ?  "  muttered  the  quiet-eyed  man 
at  Conyngham's  side.  The  Englishman  turned 
and  looked  at  him. 

"  They  will   shoot   me,  too ;    but    not   now." 

Concepcion  sullenly  awaited  the  arrival  of  the 
guards.  These  men  ever  hunt  in  couples  of  a 
widely  different  age,  for  the  law  has  found  that 
an  old  head  and  a  young  arm  form  the  strongest 


CONTRABAND  55 

combination.  The  elder  of  the  two  had  the  face 
of  an  old,  gray  wolf.  He  muttered  some  order  to 
his  companion  and  went  toward  the  mule.  He 
cut  away  the  outer  covering  of  the  burden  sus- 
pended from  the  saddle  and  nodded  his  head  wisely. 
These  were  boxes  of  cartridges  to  carry  one  thous- 
and each.  The  gray  old  man  turned  and  looked 
at  him  who  lay  on  the  ground. 

"  A  la  longa''  he  said,  with  a  grim  smile.  "  In 
the  long  run,  Antonio." 

The  man  gave  a  sickly  grin,  and  opened  his 
mouth  to  speak,  but  his  jaw  dropped  instead,  and 
he  passed  across  that  frontier  which  is  watched  by 
no  earthly  sentinel. 

"  This  gentleman,"  said  the  quiet-eyed  man, 
whose  guide  had  thus  paid  for  his  little  mistake  in 
refusing  to  halt  at  the  word  of  command,  "  is  a 
stranger  to  me  —  an  Englishman,  I  think." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Conyngham. 

The  old  soldier  looked  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  That  may  be,"  he  said ;  "  but  he  sleeps  in 
Ronda  prison  to-night.  To-morrow  the  Captain- 
General  will  see  to  it." 

"  I  have  a  letter  to  the  Captain-General,"  said 
Conyngham,  who  drew  from  his  pocket  a  packet 
of  papers.  Among  these  was  the  pink,  scented 
envelope  given  to  him  by  the  man  called  Larralde 
at  Algeciras.  He  had  forgotten  its  existence,  and 
put  it  back  in  his  pocket  with  a  smile.  Having 
found  that  for  which  he  sought,  he  gave  it  to  the 


56  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

guard,  who  read  the  address  in  silence,  and  re- 
turned the  letter. 

"  You  I  know,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  man  at 
Conyngham's  side,  who  merely  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders ;  "  and  Concepcion  Vara,  we  all  know  him." 

Concepcion  had  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  was 
murmuring  a  popular  air  with  the  indifferent 
patience  and  the  wandering  eye  of  perfect  inno- 
cence. The  old  soldier  turned  and  spoke  in  an 
undertone  to  his  comrade,  who  went  toward  the 
dead  man  and  quietly  covered  his  face  with  the 
folds  of  his  own  faja  or  waistcloth.  This  he 
weighted  at  the  corners  with  stones  carrying  out 
this  simple  office  to  the  dead  with  a  suggestive 
indifference.  To  this  day  the  guardia  civile  have 
plenary  power  to  shoot  whomsoever  they  think  fit, 
flight  and  resistance  being  equally  fatal. 

No  more  heeding  the  dead  body  of  the  man 
whom  he  had  shot  than  he  would  have  heeded  the 
carcase  of  a  rat,  the  elder  of  the  two  soldiers  now 
gave  the  order  to  march,  commanding  Concepcion 
to  lead  the  way. 

"  It  will  not  be  worth  your  while  to  risk  a  bul- 
let by  running  away,"  he  said.  "This  time  it  is 
probably  a  matter  of  a  few  pounds  of  tobacco 
only." 

The  evening  had  fallen  ere  the  silent  party 
caught  sight  of  the  town  of  Ronda,  perched,  as  the 
Moorish  strongholds  usually  are,  on  a  height. 
Ronda,  as   history  tells,  was  the  last  possession  of 


CONTRABAND  57 

the  brave  and  gifted  Moslems  in  Spain.  The 
people  are  half-Moorish  still,  and  from  the  barred 
windows  look  out  deep  almond  eyes  and  patient 
faces  that  have  no  European  feature.  The  nar- 
row streets  were  empty  as  the  travellers  entered 
the  town,  and  the  clatter  of  the  mules,  slipping  and 
stumbling  on  the  cobble-stones,  brought  but  few 
to  the  doors  of  the  low-built  houses.  To  enter 
Ronda  from  the  south,  the  traveller  must  traverse 
the  Moorish  town,which  is  divided  from  the  Span- 
ish quarter  by  a  cleft  in  the  great  rock  that  ren- 
ders the  town  impregnable  to  all  attack.  Having 
crossed  the  bridge  spanning  the  great  gorge,  into 
which  the  sun  never  penetrates,  even  at  midday,  the 
party  emerged  into  the  broader  streets  of  the  more 
modern  town,  and,  turning  to  the  right  through  a 
high  gateway,  found  themselves  in  a  barrack-yard 
of  the  guardia  civile. 


CHAPTER   VI 


AT    RONDA 


"Le  plus   grand  art   d'un   habile   homme  est   celui  de 
savoir  cacher  son   habilete." 

When  Conyngham  awoke,  after  a  night  conscien- 
tiously spent  in  that  profound  slumber  which  waits 
on  an  excellent  digestion  and  a  careless  heart,  he 
found  the  prison  attendant  at  his  bedside.  A  less 
easy-going  mind  would,  perhaps,  have  leapt  to 
some  nervous  conclusion  at  the  sight  of  this  fierce- 
visaged  janitor,  who,  however,  carried  nothing 
more  deadly   in  his  hand  than  a  card. 

"It  is  the  Captain-General,"  said  he,  "who 
calls  at  this  early  hour.  His  excellency's  letter 
has  been  delivered,  and  the  Captain-General  scarce 
waited  to  swallow  his  morning  chocolate." 

"  Very  much  to  the  Captain-General's  credit," 
returned  Conyngham,  rising.  "  Cold  water,"  he 
went  on,  "  soap,  a  towel,  and  my  luggage ;  and 
then  the   Captain-General." 

The  attendant,  with  an  odd  smile,  procured  the 
necessary  articles,  and  when  the  Englishman  was 
ready  led  the  way  downstairs.  He  was  a  solemn 
man  from  Galicia,  where  they  do  not  smile. 

In  the  patio  of  the  great  house,  once  a  monas- 


AT   RONDA  59 

tery,  now  converted  into  a  barrack  for  the  guardia 
civile,  a  small  man  of  fifty  years  or  more  stood 
smoking  a  cigarette.  On  perceiving  Conyngham 
he  came  forward,  with  outstretched  hand  and  a 
smile  which  can  only  be  described  as  angelic.  It 
was  a  smile  at  once  sympathetic  and  humorous, 
veiling  his  dark  eyes  between  lashes  almost  closed, 
parting  moustachioed  lips  to  disclose  a  row  of  pearly 
teeth. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  General  Vincente,  in  very 
tolerable  English,  "  I  am  at  your  feet.  That  such 
a  mistake  should  have  been  made  in  respect  to  the 
bearer  of  a  letter  of  introduction  from  my  old 
friend,  General  Watterson  —  we  fought  together 
in  Wellington's  day  —  that  such  a  mistake  should 
have   occurred   overwhelms   me   with   shame." 

He  pressed  Conyngham's  hand  in  both  of  his, 
which  were  small  and  white,  looked  up  into  his 
face,  stepped  back  and  broke  into  a  soft  laugh. 
Indeed,  his  voice  was  admirably  suited  to  a  lady's 
drawing-room,  and  suggested  nought  of  the  camp 
or  battlefield.  From  the  handkerchief,  which  he 
drew  from  his  sleeve  and  passed  across  his  white 
moustache,  a  faint  scent  floated  on  the  morning 
air. 

"  Are  you  General  Vincente  ?  "  asked  Conyng- 
ham. 

tc  Yes  ;  why  not  ?  "  And  in  truth  the  tone  of 
the  Englishman's  voice  had  betrayed  a  scepticism 
which  warranted  the  question. 


60  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  come  so  early.  I 
have  been  quite  comfortable,  and  they  gave  me  a 
good  supper  last  night,"  said  Conyngham.  "  More- 
over, the  guard'ia  civile  are  in  no  way  to  blame  for 
my  arrest.     I  was  in  bad  company,  it    seems." 

"  Yes  ;  your  companions  were  engaged  in  car- 
rying ammunition  for  the  Carlists.  We  have 
wanted  to  lay  our  hands  upon  them  for  some 
weeks.  They  have  carried  former  journeys  to  a 
successful  termination." 

He  laughed  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"The  guide  Antonio  something  or  other  died, 
as  I  understand." 

"  Well,  yes,  if  you  choose  to  put  it  that  way," 
admitted  Conyngham. 

The  general  raised  his  eyebrows  in  a  gentle 
grimace,  expressive  of  deprecation,  with,  as  it  were, 
a  small  solution  of  sympathy,  indicated  by  a 
moisture  of  the  eye  for  the  family  of  Antonio 
something  or  other  in  their  bereavement. 

"  And  the  other  man  ?  Seemed  a  nice  enough 
fellow,"  inquired  Conyngham. 

The  general  raised  one  gloved  hand,  as  if  to 
fend  off  some  approaching  calamity. 

"  He  died  this  morning  at  six  o'clock." 

Conyngham  looked  down  at  this  gentle  soldier 
with  a  dawning  light  of  comprehension.  This 
might,  after  all,  be  the  General  Vincente,  whom 
he  had  been  led  to  look  upon  as  the  fiercest  of  the 
Spanish  Queen's  adherents. 


AT    RONDA  6 i 

"  Of  the  same  complaint  ?  " 

"  Of  the  same  complaint,"  answered  the  general, 
softly.  He  slipped  his  hand  within  Conyngham's 
arm,  and  thus  affectionately  led  him  across  the 
patio  toward  the  doorway,  where  sentinels  stood  at 
attention.  He  acknowledged  the  attitude  of  his 
subordinates  by  a  friendly  nod  ;  indeed,  this  rosy- 
faced  warrior  seemed  to  brim  over  with  the  milk  of 
human  kindness. 

"  The  English,"  he  said,  pressing  his  compan- 
ion's arm,  "  have  been  too  useful  to  us  for  me  to 
allow  one  of  them  to  remair  a  moment  longer  in 
confinement.  You  say  you  were  comfortable.  I 
hope  they  gave  you  a  clean  towel  and  all  that." 

"  Yes,  thanks,"  answered  Conyngham  suppress- 
ing a  desire  to  laugh. 

"  That  is  well.  Ronda  is  a  pleasant  place,  as 
you  will  find  —  most  interesting  ;  Moorish  remains, 
you  understand.  I  will  send  my  servant  for  your 
baggage,  and,  of  course,  my  poor  house  is  at  your 
disposition.  You  will  stay  with  me  until  we  can 
find  some  work  for  you  to  do.  You  wish  to  take 
service  with  us,  of  course  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Conyngham  ;  "  rather  thought 
of  it,  if  you  will  have  me." 

The  general  glanced  up  at  his  stalwart  com- 
panion with  a  measuring  eye. 

"  My  house,"  he  said,  in  a  conversational  way, 
as  if  only  desirous  of  making  matters  as  pleasant  as 
possible  in  a  life  which  nature  had  intended  to  be 


62  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

peaceful  and  sunny,  and  perhaps  trifling,  but  which 
the  wickedness  of  men  had  rendered  otherwise  — 
"  my  house  is,  as  you  would  divine,  only  an  official 
residence,  but  pleasant  enough  —  pleasant  enough. 
The  garden  is  distinctly  tolerable.  There  are  orange- 
trees  now  in  bloom,  so  sweet  of  scent." 

The  street  into  which  they  had  now  emerged 
was  no  less  martial  in  appearance  than  the  barrack- 
yard,  and  while  he  spoke  the  general  never  ceased 
to  disperse  his  kindly  little  nod,  on  one  side  or  the 
other,  in  response  to  military  salutations. 

"  We  have  quite  a  number  of  soldiers  in  Ronda 
at  present,"  he  said,  with  an  affectionate  little  pres- 
sure of  Conyngham's  arm,  as  if  to  indicate  his  ap- 
preciation of  such  protection  amid  these  rough  men. 
"  There  is  a  great  talk  of  some  rising  in  the  South 
—  in  Andalusia  —  to  support  Senor  Cabrera,  who 
continually  threatens  Madrid.  A  great  soldier, 
they  tell  me,  this  Cabrera ;  but  not  .  .  .  well,  not 
perhaps  quite  ...  eh  ?  ...  a  caballero,  a  gentle- 
man.    A  pity,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  A  great  pity,"  answered  Conyngham,  taking 
the  opportunity  at  last  afforded  him  of  getting  a 
word  in. 

"  One  must  be  prepared,"  went  on  the  general, 
with  a  good-natured  little  sigh,  "  for  such  measures. 
There  are  so  many  mistaken  enthusiasts.  Is  it 
not  so  ?  Such  men  as  your  countryman,  Senor 
Flinter.  There  are  so  many  who  are  stronger 
Carlists  than  Don  Carlos  himself — eh?" 


AT    RONDA  63 

The  secret  of  conversational  success  is  to  defer 
to  one's  listener.  A  clever  man  imparts  informa- 
tion by  asking  questions,  and  obtains  it  without 
doing  so. 

"  This  is  my  poor  house,"  continued  the  soldier, 
and  as  he  spoke  he  beamed  on  the  sentries  at  the 
door.  "  I  am  a  widower,  but  God  has  given  me  a 
daughter,  who  is  now  of  an  age  to  rule  my  house- 
hold. Estella  will  endeavour  to  make  you  com- 
fortable ;  and  an  Englishman,  a  soldier,  will  surely 
overlook  some  small  defects." 

He  finished  with  a  good-natured  laugh.  There 
was  no  resisting  the  sunny  good-humour  of  this 
rotund  little  officer  or  the  gladness  of  his  face. 
His  attitude  toward  the  world  was  one  of  constant 
endeavour  to  make  things  pleasant  and  acquit  him- 
self to  his  best  in  circumstances  far  beyond  his 
merits  or  capabilities.  He  was  one  who  had  had 
good  fortune  all  his  days.  Those  who  have  great- 
ness thrust  upon  them  are  never  much  impressed 
by  their  burden.  And  General  Vincente  had  the 
air  of  constantly  assuring  his  subordinates  that  they 
need  not  mind  him. 

The  house  to  which  he  conducted  Conyngham 
stood  on  the  broad  main  street,  immediately  oppo- 
site a  cluster  of  shops  where  leather  bottles  were 
manufactured  and  sold.  It  was  a  large,  gloomy 
house,  with  a  patio  devoid  of  fountain  and  even  of 
the  usual  orange-trees  in  green  boxes. 

"  Through  there  is  the  garden,  most  pleasant  and 


64  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

shady,"  said  the  general,  indicating  a  doorway  with 
the  riding-whip  he  carried. 

A  troop  of  servants  awaited  them  at  the  foot  of 
the  broad  Moorish  staircase,  open  on  one  side  to 
the  patio,  and  heavily  carved  in  balustrade  and 
cornice.  These  gentlemen  bowed  gravely ;  in- 
deed, they  were  so  numerous,  that  the  majority  of 
them  must  have  had  nothing  to  do  but  cultivate 
this  dignified  salutation. 

"  The  senorita  ?  "  inquired  the  general. 

41  The  senorita  is  in  the  garden,  excellency," 
answered  one,  with  the  air  of  a  courtier. 

"  Then  let  us  go  there  at  once,"  said  General 
Vincente,  turning  to  Conyngham  and  gripping  his 
arm  affectionately. 

They  passed  through  a  doorway,  whither  two 
men  had  hurried  to  open  the  heavy  doors,  and  the 
scent  of  violets  and  mignonette,  of  orange  in  bloom, 
and  of  a  hundred  opening  buds  swept  across  their 
faces.  The  brilliant  sunlight  almost  dazzled  eyes 
that  had  grown  accustomed  to  the  cool  shade  of 
the  patio,  for  Ronda  is  one  of  the  sunniest  spots  on 
earth,  and  here  the  warmth  is  rarely  oppressive. 
The  garden  was  Moorish,  and  running  water  in 
aqueducts  of  marble,  yellow  with  stupendous  age, 
murmured  in  the  shade  of  tropical  plants.  A  foun- 
tain plashed  and  chattered  softly,  like  the  whisper- 
ing of  children.  The  pathways  were  paved  with 
a  fine  white  gravel  of  broken  marble.  There  was 
no  weed  amid  the  flowers.     It  seemed  a  paradise 


AT   RONDA  65 

to  Conyngham,  fresh  from  the  gray  and  mournful 
Northern  winter,  and  no  part  of  this  weary,  busy 
world,  for  here  was  rest  and  silence,  and  that  sense 
of  eternity  which  is  only  conveyed  by  the  continu- 
ous voice  of  running  or  falling  water.  It  was 
hard  to  believe  that  this  was  real  and  earthly. 
Conyngham  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  instinctively 
turned  to  look  at  his  companion,  who  was  as  un- 
real as  his  surroundings.  A  round-faced,  chubby 
little  man,  with  a  tender  mouth  and  moist,  dark 
eyes,  looking  kindly  out  upon  the  world,  who  called 
himself  General  Vincente,  and  the  name  was 
synonymous  in  all  Spain  with  bloodthirstiness  and 
cruelty,  with  daring  and  an  unsparing  generalship. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  let  us  look  for  Estella." 

He  led  the  way  along  a  path  winding  among 
almond  and  peach-trees  in  full  bloom,  in  the  shadow 
of  the  weird  eucalyptus  and  the  feathery  pepper- 
tree.  Then  with  a  little  word  of  pleasure  he 
hurried  forward. 

Conyngham  caught  sight  of  a  black  dress  and  a 
black  mantilla,  of  fair  golden  hair,  and  a  fan  up- 
raised against  the  rays  of  the  sun. 

"  Estella,  here  is  a  guest,  Mr.  Conyngham,  one 
of  the  brave  Englishmen  who  remember  Spain  in 
her  time  of  trouble." 

Conyngham  bowed  with  a  greater  ceremony  than 
we  observe  to-day,  and  stood  upright  to  look  upon 
that  which  was  for  him,  from  that  moment,  the 
fairest  face  in  the  world.     As  to  some  men  success 

5 


66  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

or  failure  seems  to  come  early  and  in  one  bound, 
so  for  some  Love  lies  long  in  ambush,  to  shoot  at 
length  a  single  and  certain  shaft.  Conyngham 
looked  at  Estella  Vincente,  his  gay  blue  eyes  meet- 
ing her  dark  glance  with  a  frankness  which  was 
characteristic,  and  knew  from  that  instant  that  his 
world  held  no  other  woman.  It  came  to  him  as  a 
flash  of  lightning  that  left  his  former  life  gray  and 
neutral,  and  yet  he  was  conscious  of  no  surprise, 
but  rather  of  a  feeling  of  having  found  something 
which  he  had  long  sought. 

The  girl  acknowledged  his  salutation  with  a  little 
inclination  of  the  head,  and  a  smile  which  was  only 
of  the  lips,  for  her  eyes  remained  grave  and  deep. 
She  had  all  the  dignity  of  carriage  famous  in  Cas- 
tilian  women,  though  her  figure  was  youthful  still 
and  slight.  Her  face  was  a  clean-cut  oval,  with 
lips  that  were  still  and  proud,  and  a  delicately 
aquiline  nose. 

"  My  daughter  speaks  English  better  than  I  do," 
went  on  the  general,  in  the  garrulous  voice  of  an 
exceedingly  domesticated  man.  u  She  has  been 
at  school  in  England,  at  the  suggestion  of  my  dear 
friend  Watterson  —  with  his  daughters,  in  fact." 

"  And  must  have  found  it  dull  and  gray  enough 
compared  to  Spain,"  said  Conyngham. 

"  Ah  !  then  you  like  Spain,"  said  the  general, 
eagerly.  "  It  is  so  with  all  the  English.  We 
have  something  in  common  despite  the  Armada, 
eh? — something  in  manner  and  in  appearance, 
too ;  is  it  not  so  ?  " 


AT   RONDA  67 

He  left  Conyngham  and  walked  slowly  on  with 
one  hand  at  his  daughter's  waist. 

"  I  was  .very  happy  in  England,"  said  Estella  to 
Conyngham,  who  walked  at  her  other  side  ;  "  but 
happier  still  to  get  home  to  Spain." 

Her  voice  was  rather  low,  and  Conyngham  had 
an  odd  sensation  of  having  heard  it  before. 

"  Why  did  you  leave  your  home  ? "  she  con- 
tinued, in  a  leisurely,  conversational  way,  which 
seemed  natural  to  the  environments. 

The  question  rather  startled  the  Englishman,  for 
the  only  answer  seemed  to  be  that  he  had  quitted 
England  in  order  to  come  to  Ronda  and  to  her, 
following  the  path  in  life  that  Fate  had  assigned 

to  him. 

"  We  have  troubles  in  England  also  —  political 
troubles,"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 

"  The  Chartists,"  said  the  general,  cheerfully. 
"  We  know  all  about  them,  for  we  have  the  Eng- 
lish newspapers.  I  procure  them  in  order  to  have 
reliable  news  of  Spain." 

He  broke  off  with  a  little  laugh,  and  looked 
toward  his  daughter. 

"  In  the  evening  Estella  reads  them  to  me. 
And  it  was  on  account  of  the  Chartists  that  you 
left  England  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Ah  !  you  are  a  Chartist,  Mr.  Conyngham  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  admitted  the  Englishman,  after  a  pause, 
and  he  glanced  at  Estella. 


CHAPTER   VII 

IN    A    MOORISH    GARDEN 

"  When  love  is  not  a  blasphemy,  it  is  a  religion." 

There  is,  perhaps,  a  subtle  significance  in  the  fact 
that  the  greatest,  the  crudest,  the  most  barbarous 
civil  war  of  modern  days,  if  not  of  all  time,  has 
owed  its  outbreak  and  its  long  continuance  to  the 
influence  of  a  woman.  When  Ferdinand  VII.  of 
Spain  died  in  1833,  after  a  reign  broken  and  dis- 
turbed by  the  passage  of  that  human  cyclone, 
Napoleon  the  Great,  he  bequeathed  his  kingdom, 
in  defiance  of  the  Salic  Law,  to  his  daughter 
Isabella.  Ferdinand's  brother  Carlos,  however, 
claimed  the  throne,  under  the  very  just  contention 
that  the  Salic  Law,  by  which  women  were  ex- 
cluded from  the  heritage  of  the  crown,  had  never 
been  legally  abrogated. 

This  was  the  spark  that  fell  in  a  tinder  made  up 
of  ambition,  unscrupulousness,  cruelty,  bloodthirst- 
iness,  self-seeking,  and  jealousy  —  the  morale,  in 
a  word,  of  the  Spain  of  sixty  years  ago.  Some 
sided  with  the  Queen  Regent  Christina  and  rallied 
round  the  child-queen,  because  they  saw  that  that 
way  lay  glory  and  promotion.     Others  flocked  to 


IN    A    MOORISH    GARDEN  69 

the  standard  of  Don  Carlos,  because  they  were 
poor  and  of  no  influence  at  court.  The  Church, 
as  a  whole,  raised  its  whispering  voice  for  the  Pre- 
tender ;  for  the  rest,  patriotism  was  nowhere,  and 
ambition  on  every  side. 

"  For  five  years  we  have  fought  the  Carlists, 
hunger,  privation,  and  the  politicians  at  Madrid  ! 
And  the  holy  saints  only  know  which  has  been 
the  worst  enemy,"  said  General  Vincente  to 
Conyngham,  when  explaining  the  above  related 
details. 

And,  indeed,  the  story  of  this  war  reads  like  a 
romance,  for  there  came  from  neutral  countries 
foreign  legions,  as  in  the  olden  days.  From  Eng- 
land an  army  of  ten  thousand  mercenaries  landed 
in  Spain,  prepared  to  fight  for  the  cause  of  Queen 
Christina,  and  very  modestly  estimating  the  worth 
of  their  services  at  the  sum  of  thirteen  pence  a 
diem.  After  all,  the  value  of  a  man's  life  is  but 
the  price  of  his  daily  hire. 

"  We  did  not  pay  them  much,"  said  General 
Vincente,  with  a  deprecating  little  smile,  "  but 
they  did  not  fight  much.  Their  pay  was  gener- 
ally in  arrears,  and  they  were  usually  in  the  rear  as 
well.  What  will  you,  my  dear  Conyngham ;  you 
are  a  commercial  people,  you  keep  good  soldiers 
in  the  shop  window,  and  when  a  buyer  comes  you 
serve  him  with  second-class  goods  from  behind  the 


counter." 


He  beamed  on  Conyngham  with  a  pleasant  ai; 


7o  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

of  benign  connivance  in  a  very  legitimate  com- 
mercial transaction. 

This  is  no  time  or  place  to  go  into  the  history 
of  the  English  legion  in  Spain,  which,  indeed,  had 
quitted  that  country  before  Conyngham  landed 
there,  horrified  by  the  barbarities  of  a  cruel  war, 
where  prisoners  received  no  quarter,  and  the 
soldiers  on  either  side  were  left  without  pay  or 
rations.  In  a  half-hearted  manner  England  went 
to  the  assistance  of  the  Queen  Regent  of  Spain, 
and  one  error  in  statesmanship  led  to  many.  It  is 
always  a  mistake  to  strike  gently. 

"  This  country,"  said  General  Vincente,  in  his 
suavest  manner,  "  owes  much  to  yours,  my  dear 
Conyngham ;  but  it  would  have  been  better  for  us 
both  had  we  owed  you  a  little  more." 

During  the  five  years  prior  to  Conyngham's 
arrival  at  Ronda  the  war  had  raged  with  unabated 
fury,  swaying  from  the  West  to  East  Coast,  as 
fortune  smiled  or  frowned  on  the  Carlist  cause. 
At  one  time  it  almost  appeared  certain  that  the 
Christina  forces  were  unable  to  stem  the  rising 
tide,  which  bade  fair  to  spread  over  all  Spain,  so 
unfortunate  were  their  generals,  so  futile  the  best 
endeavours  of  the  bravest  and  most  patient  soldiers. 
General  Vincente  was  not  alone  in  his  conviction 
that  had  the  gallant  Carlist  leader  Zumalacarreguy 
lived,  he  might  have  carried  all  before  him.  But 
this  great  leader  at  the  height  of  his  fame,  beloved 
by  all  his  soldiers,  worshipped  by  his  subordinate 


IN   A   MOORISH   GARDEN  71 

officers,  died  suddenly  by  poison,  as  it  was  whis- 
pered, the  victim  of  jealousy  and  ambition.  Al- 
most at  once  there  arose  one  in  the  east  of  Spain, 
as  obscure  in  birth  as  unknown  to  fame,  who 
flashed  suddenly  to  the  zenith  of  military  glory,  the 
brutal,  wonderful  Cabrera.  The  name  to  this  day 
is  a  household  word  in  Catalonia,  while  the  eyes  of 
a  few  old  men  still  living,  who  fought  with  or 
against  him,  flash  in  the  light  of  other  days  at  the 
mere  mention  of  it. 

Among  the  many  leaders  who  had  attempted  in 
vain  to  overcome  by  skill  and  patriotism  the  thous- 
and difficulties  placed  in  their  way  by  successive, 
unstable,  insincere  Ministers  of  War,  General 
Vincente  occupied  an  honoured  place.  This 
mild-mannered  tactician  enjoyed  the  enviable  repu- 
tation of  being  alike  inconquerable  and  incorrupti- 
ble. His  smiling  presence  on  the  battlefield  was 
in  itself  worth  half  a  dozen  battalions,  while  at 
Madrid  the  dishonest  politicians,  who  through  these 
years  of  Spain's  great  trial  systematically  bartered 
their  honour  for  immediate  gain,  dreaded  and 
respected  him. 

During  the  days  that  followed  his  arrival  at 
Ronda  and  release  from  the  prison  there,  Frederick 
Conyngham  learnt  much  from  his  host  and  little 
of  him,  for  General  Vincente  had  that  in  him 
which  no  leader,  no  great  man  in  any  walk 
of  life,  can  well  dispense  with  —  an  unsoundable 
depth. 


72  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

Conyngham  learnt  also  that  the  human  heart  is 
capable  of  rising  at  one  bound  above  difficulties  of 
race  or  custom,  creed  and  spoken  language.  He 
walked  with  Estella  in  that  quiet  garden  between 
high  walls  on  the  trim  Moorish  paths,  and  often 
the  murmur  of  the  running  water,  which  ever 
graced  the  Moslem  palaces,  was  the  only  break 
upon  their  silence  ;  for  this  thing  had  come  into 
the  Englishman's  life  suddenly,  leaving  him  dazed 
and  uncertain.  Estella,  on  the  other  hand,  had  a 
quiet  savoir-faire  that  sat  strangely  on  her  young 
face.  She  was  only  nineteen,  and  yet  had  a  cer- 
tain air  of  authority,  handed  down  to  her  from  two 
great  races  of  noble  men  and  women. 

"  Do  all  your  countrymen  take  life  thus  gaily  ?  " 
she  asked  Conyngham  one  day.  "  Surely  it  is  a 
more  serious  affair  than  you  think  it." 

"  I  have  never  found  it  very  serious,  senorita," 
he  answered.  "  There  is  usually  a  smile  in  human 
affairs  if  one  takes  the  trouble  to  look  for  it." 

"  Have  you  always  found  it  so  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer  at  once,  pausing  to  lift  the 
branch  of  a  mimosa-tree  that  hung  in  yellow  pro- 
fusion across  the  pathway. 

"Yes,  senorita,  I  think  so,"  he  answered  at 
length  slowly.  There  was  a  sense  of  eternal  rest- 
fulness  in  this  old  Moorish  garden,  which  acted  as 
a  brake  on  the  thoughts,  and  made  conversation 
halt  and  drag  in  an  Oriental  way  that  Europeans 
rarely  understand. 


IN   A   MOORISH    GARDEN 


73 


"  And  yet  you  say  you  remember  your  father's 
death  ?  " 

"He. made  a  joke  to  the  doctor,  senorita,  and 
was  not  afraid." 

Estella  smiled  in  a  queer  way,  and  then  looked 
grave  again. 

"  And  you  have  always  been  poor,  you  say  — 
sometimes  almost  starving  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  always  poor,  deadly  poor,  senorita," 
answered  Conyngham,  with  a  gay  laugh.  "  And 
since  I  have  been  on  my  own  resources  frequently, 
well  —  very  hungry  !  The  appetite  has  been  large 
and  the  resources  have  been  small.  But  when  I 
get  into  the  Spanish  army  they  will,  no  doubt, 
make  me  a  general,  and  all  will  be  well." 

He  laughed  again  and  slipped  his  hand  into  his 
jacket-pocket. 

"  See  here,"  he  said;  "your  father's  recom- 
mendation to  General  Espartero  in  a  confidential 
letter." 

But  the  envelope  he  produced  was  that  pink 
one,  which  the  man  called  Larralde  had  given  him 
at  Algeciras. 

"  No ;  it  is  not  that,"  he  said,  searching  in 
another  pocket.  "  Ah !  here  it  is,  addressed  to 
General  Espartero,  Duke  of  Vittoria." 

He  showed  her  the  superscription,  which  she 
read  with  a  little  inclination  of  the  head,  as  if  in 
salutation  of  the  great  name  written  there,  for  the 
greatest  names  are  those  that  men  have  made  for 


74  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

themselves.      Conyngham  replaced  the  two  letters 
in  his  pocket,  and  almost  immediately  asked  : 

"  Do  you  know  any  one  called  Barenna  in 
Ronda,  senorita  ?  "  thereby  proving  that  General 
Espartero  would  do  ill  to  give  him  an  appointment 
requiring  even  the  earliest  rudiments  of  diplomacy. 

"  Julia  Barenna  is  my  cousin.  Her  mother  was 
my  mother's  sister.  Do  you  know  them,  Senor 
Conyngham  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  answered  Conyngham,  truthfully 
enough.  "  I  met  a  man  who  knows  them.  Do 
they  live  in  Ronda  ?  " 

"  No ;  their  house  is  on  the  Cordova  road,  about 
half  a  league  from  the  Customs  Station." 

Estella  was  not  by  nature  curious,  and  asked  no 
questions.  There  were  many  who  knew  the 
Barennas  that  would  fain  have  been  able  to  claim 
acquaintance  with  General  Vincente  and  his 
daughter,  but  could  not  do  so,  for  the  Captain- 
General  moved  in  a  circle  not  far  removed  from 
the  Queen  Regent  herself,  and  mixed  but  little  in 
the  society  of  Ronda,  where  for  the  time  being  he 
held  a  command. 

Conyngham  required  no  further  information,  and 
in  a  few  moments  dismissed  the  letter  from  his 
mind.  Events  seemed  for  him  to  have  moved 
rapidly  within  the  last  few  days,  and  the  world  of 
roadside  inns  and  casual  acquaintance,  into  which 
he  had  stepped  on  his  arrival  in  Spain,  was  quite 
another  from  that  in  which  Estella  moved  at 
Ronda. 


IN    A    MOORISH    GARDEN  75 

"  I  must  set  out  for  Madrid  in  a  few  days  at  the 
latest,"  he  said,  a  few  minutes  afterward  ;  "  but  I 
shall  go  against  my  will,  because  you  tell  me  that 
you  and  your  father  will  not  be  coming  North 
until  the  spring." 

Estella  shook  her  head  with  a  little  laugh.  This 
man  was  different  from  the  punctilious  aides-de- 
camp and  others  who  had  hitherto  begged  most 
respectfully  to  notify  their  admiration. 

"  And  three  days  ago  you  did  not  know  of  our 
existence,"  she  said. 

"  In  three  days  a  man  may  be  dead  of  an  illness 
of  which  he  ignored  the  existence,  seiiorita  ;  in 
three  days  a  man's  life  may  be  made  miserable  or 
happy  —  perhaps  in  three  minutes." 

And  she  looked  straight  in  front  of  her  in  order 
to  avoid  his  eyes. 

"  Yours  will  always  be  happy,  I  think,"  she  said, 
"  because  you  never  seem  to  go  below  the  surface, 
and  on  the  surface  life  is  happy  enough." 

He  made  some  light  answer,  and  they  walked 
on  beneath  the  orange-trees,  talking  of  these  and 
other  matters,  which  lose  all  meaning  when  set 
down  on  paper,  indulging  in  those  dangerous 
generalities  which  sound  so  safe,  and  in  reality 
narrow  down  to  a  little  world  of  two. 

They  were  thus  engaged  when  the  servant  came 
to  announce  that  the  horse,  which  the  general  had 
placed  at  Conyngham's  disposal,  was  at  the  door 
in  accordance  with  the  Englishman's  own   order. 


76  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

He  went  away  sorrowfully  enough,  only  half  con- 
soled by  the  information  that  Estella  was  about  to 
attend  a  service  at  the  Church  of  Santa  Maria,  and 
could  not  have  stayed  longer  in  the  garden. 

The  hour  of  the  siesta  was  scarce  over,  and  as 
Conyngham  rode  through  the  cleanly  streets  of  the 
ancient  town  more  than  one  roused  himself  from 
the  shadow  of  a  doorway  to  see  him  pass.  There 
are  few  older  towns  in  Andalusia  than  Ronda,  and 
scarce  anywhere  the  habits  of  the  Moors  are  so 
closely  followed.  The  streets  are  clean,  the  houses 
whitewashed  within  and  without.  The  trappings 
of  the  mules  and  much  of  the  costume  of  the 
people  are  Oriental  in  texture  and  brilliancy. 

Conyngham  asked  a  passer-by  to  indicate  the 
way  to  the  Cordova  road,  and  the  polite  Spaniard 
turned  and  walked  by  his  stirrup  until  a  mistake 
was  no  longer  possible. 

"  It  is  not  the  most  beautiful  approach  to 
Ronda,"  said  this  garrulous  person,  "  but  well 
enough  in  the  summer,  when  the  flowers  are  in 
bloom  and  the  vineyards  green.  The  road  is 
straight  and  dusty  until  one  arrives  at  the  posses- 
sion of  the  Senora  Barenna,  a  light  road  to  the 
right  leading  up  into  the  mountain.  One  can  per- 
ceive the  house — oh,  yes — upon  the  hillside, 
once  beautiful,  but  now  old  and  decayed.  Mistake 
is  now  impossible.  It  is  a  straight  way.  I  wish 
you  a  good  journey." 

Conyngham  rode  on,  vaguely  turning   over    in 


IN   A   MOORISH    GARDEN 


77 


his  mind  a  half-matured  plan  of  effecting  a  seem- 
ingly accidental  entry  to  the  house  of  Sefiora 
Barenna,  in  the  hope  of  meeting  that  lady's 
daughter  in  the  garden  or  grounds.  Once  outside 
the  walls  of  the  town  he  found  the  country  open 
and  bare,  consisting  of  brown  hills,  of  which  the 
lower  slopes  were  dotted  with  evergreen  oaks. 
The  road  soon  traversed  a  village  which  seemed  to 
be  half  deserted,  for  men  and  women  alike  were 
working  in  the  fields.  On  the  balcony  of  the  best 
house  a  branch  of  palm  bound  against  the  ironwork 
balustrade  indicated  the  dwelling  of  the  priest,  and 
the  form  of  that  village  despot  was  dimly  discern- 
ible in  the  darkened  room  behind.  Beyond  the 
village  Conyngham  turned  his  horse's  head  toward 
the  mountain,  his  mind  preoccupied  with  a  Machia- 
vellian scheme  of  losing  his  way  in  this  neigh- 
bourhood. Through  the  evergreen  oak  and  olive 
groves  he  could  perceive  the  roof  of  an  old,  gray 
house,  which  had  once  been  a  mere  hacienda  or 
semi-fortified  farm. 

Conyngham  did  not  propose  to  go  direct  to 
Senora  Barenna's  house,  but  described  a  semicircle, 
mounting  from  terrace  to  terrace  on  his  sure-footed 
horse. 

When  at  length  he  came  in  sight  of  the  high 
gateway,  where  the  ten-foot  oaken  gates  still 
swung,  he  perceived  some  one  approaching  the  exit. 
On  closer  inspection  he  saw  that  this  was  a  priest, 
and  on  nearing  him  recognised  the   Padre   Concha, 


78  IN    KEDAR'S    TENTS 

whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  at  the  hotel  of 
the  Marina  at  Algeciras. 

The  recognition  was  mutual,  for  the  priest 
raised  his  shabby  old  hat  with  a  tender  care  for  the 
insecurity  of  its  brim. 

"  A  lucky  meeting,  Senor  Englishman,"  he  said. 
"  Who  would  have  expected  to  see  you  here  ?  " 

"  I  have  lost  my  way." 

"  Ah  ! "  And  the  grim  face  relaxed  into  a 
smile.     "Lost    your  way?" 

«  Yes." 

"  Then  it  is  lucky  that  I  have  met  you.  It  is 
so  easy  to  lose  one's  way  when  one  is  young." 

He  raised  his  hand  to  the  horse's  bridle. 

"  You  are  most  certainly  going  in  the  wrong 
direction,"  he  said.     "  I  will  lead  you  right." 

It  was  said  and  done  so  quietly  that  Conyngham 
had  found  no  word  to  say  before  his  horse  was 
moving  in  the  opposite  direction. 

"This  is  surely  one  of  General  Vincente's 
horses,"  said  the  priest.  "  We  have  few  such 
barbs  in  Ronda.  He  always  rides  a  good  horse, 
that  Miguel  Vincente." 

"  Yes,  it  is  one  of  his  horses.  Then  you  know 
the  general  ?  " 

"  We  were  boys  together,"  answered  the  padre, 
"and  there  were  some  who  said  that  he  should 
have  been  the  priest  and  I  the  soldier," 

The  old  man  gave  a  little  laugh. 

"  He  has  prospered,  however,  if  I  have  not      A 


IN   A    MOORISH    GARDEN  79 

great  man,  my  dear  Miguel ;  and  they  say  that  his 
pay  is  duly  handed  to  him.  My  own,  my  princely 
twenty  pounds  a  year,  is  overdue.  I  am  happy 
enough,  however,  and  have  a  good  house.  You 
noticed  it,  perhaps,  as  you  passed  through  the  vil- 
lage —  a  branch  of  palm  against  the  rail  of  the  bal- 
cony—  my  sign,  you  understand.  The  innkeeper 
next  door  displays  a  branch  of  pine,  which,  I  notice, 
is  more  attractive.  Every  man  his  day.  One  does 
not  catch  rabbits  with  a  dead  ferret.  That  is  the 
church.  Will  you  see  it  ?  No !  Well,  some 
other  day.  I  will  guide  you  through  the  village. 
The  walk  will  give  me  appetite  which  I  sometimes 
require,  for  my  cook  is  one  whose  husband  has  left 
her." 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE     L  O  V  E-L  E  T  T  E  R 

*'  I  must  mix  myself  with  action  lest  I  wither  by  despair." 

"  No  one,"  Conyngham  heard  a  voice  exclaiming, 
as  he  went  into  the  garden  on  returning  from  his 
fruitless  ride  — "  no  one  knows  what  I  have 
suffered." 

He  paused  in  the  dark  doorway,  not  wishing  to 
intrude  upon  Estella  and  her  visitors,  for  he  per- 
ceived the  forms  of  three  ladies  seated  within  a 
miniature  jungle  of  bamboo,  which  grew  in  feath- 
ery luxuriance  around  a  fountain.  It  was  not  diffi- 
cult to  identify  the  voice  as  that  of  the  eldest  lady, 
who  was  stout  and  spoke  in  deep,  almost  manly 
tones.  So  far  as  he  was  able  to  judge,  the  suffer- 
ing mentioned  had  left  but  small  record  on  its  vic- 
tim's outward  appearance. 

"  Old  girl  seems  to  have  stood  it  well,"  com- 
mented the  Englishman  in  his  mind. 

"  Never  again,  my  dear  Estella,  do  I  leave 
Ronda ;  except,  indeed,  for  Toledo,  where,  of 
course,  we  shall  go  in  the  summer  if  this  terrible 
Don  Carlos  is  really  driven  from  the  country.  Ah  ! 
but  what  suffering  !  My  mind  is  never  at  ease. 
I  expect  to  wake  up  at  night  and  hear  that  Julia  is 


THE   LOVE-LETTER  81 

being  murdered  in  her  bed.  For  me  it  does  not 
matter  ;  my  life  is  not  so  gay  that  it  will  cost  me 
much  to  part  from  it.  No  one  would  molest  an 
old  woman,  you  think  ?  Well,  that  may  be  so. 
But  I  know  all  the  anxiety,  for  I  was  once  beau- 
tiful. Ah  !  more  beautiful  than  you  or  Julia  ;  and 
my  hands  and  feet — have  you  ever  noticed  my 
foot,  Estella  ?     Even  now  ..." 

And  a  sonorous  sigh  completed  the  sentence. 

Conyngham  stepped  out  of  the  doorway,  the 
clank  of  his  spurred  heel  on  the  marble  pavement 
causing  the  sigh  to  break  off  in  a  little  scream.  He 
had  caught  the  name  of  Julia,  and  hastily  concluded 
that  these  ladies  must  be  no  other  than  Madame 
Barenna  and  her  daughter.  In  the  little  bamboo 
grove  he  found  the  elder  lady  lying  back  in  her 
chair,  which  creaked  ominously,  and  asking  in  a 
faint  voice  whether  he  was  Don  Carlos. 

"  No,"  answered  Estella,  with  a  momentary 
twinkle  in  her  grave,  dark  eyes;  "this  is  Mr. 
Conyngham.  My  aunt,  Senora  Barenna,  and  my 
cousin  Julia." 

The  ladies  bowed. 

"  You  must  excuse  me,"  said  Madame  Barenna, 
volubly  ;  "  but  your  approach  was  so  sudden.  I 
am  a  great  sufferer  —  my  nerves,  you  know.  But 
young  people  do  not  understand." 

And  she  sighed  heavily,  with  a  side  glance  at 
her  daughter,  who  did  not  even  appear  to  be  trying 
to    do   so.      Julia  Barenna  was  darker    than    her 

6 


82  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

cousin,  quicker  in  manner,  with  an  air  of  worldly 
capability  which  Estella  lacked.  Her  eyes  were 
quick  and  restless,  her  face  less  beautiful,  but 
expressive  of  a  great  intelligence,  which  if  brought 
to  bear  upon  men  in  the  form  of  coquetry  was 
likely  to  be  infinitely  dangerous. 

"  It  is  always  best  to  approach  my  mother  with 
caution,"  she  said,  with  a  restless  movement  of  her 
hands.  This  was  not  a  woman  at  her  ease  in  the 
world  or  at  peace  with  it.  She  laughed  as  she 
spoke,  but  her  eyes  were  grave  even  while  her 
lips  smiled,  and  watched  the  Englishman's  face 
with  an  air  almost  of  anxiety.  There  are  some 
faces  that  seem  to  be  watching  and  waiting.  Julia 
Barenna's  had  such  a  look. 

"  Conyngham,"  said  Madame  Barenna,  reflec- 
tively. "  Surely  I  have  heard  that  name  before. 
You  are  not  the  Englishman  with  whom  Father 
Concha  is  so  angry,  who  sells  forbidden  books  — 
the  Bible,  it  is  said." 

"  No,  senora,"  answered  Conyngham,  with 
perfect  gravity  ;  "  I  have  nothing  to  sell." 

He  laughed  suddenly,  and  looked  at  the  elder 
lady  with  that  air  of  good-humour  which  won  for 
him  more  friends  than  he  ever  wanted,  for  this 
Irishman  had  a  ray  of  sunshine  in  his  heart  which 
shone  upon  his  path  through  life,  and  made  that 
uneven  way  easier  for  his  feet.  He  glanced  at 
Julia,  and  saw  in  her  eyes  the  look  of  expectancy 
which  was  in  reality  always  there.     The  thought 


THE    LOVE-LETTER  83 

flashed  through  his  mind  that  by  some  means,  or, 
perhaps  feminine  intuition  beyond  his  comprehen- 
sion, she  knew  that  he  possessed  the  letter  addressed 
to  her,  and  was  eagerly  awaiting  it.  This  letter 
seemed  to  have  been  gaining  in  importance  the 
longer  he  carried  it,  and  this  opportunity  of  giving 
it  to  her  came  at  the  right  moment.  He  remem- 
bered Larralde's  words  concerning  the  person  to 
whom  the  missive  was  addressed,  and  the  high- 
flown  sentiments  of  that  somewhat  theatrical  gen- 
tleman became  in  some  degree  justified.  Julia 
Barenna  was  a  woman  who  might  well  awaken  a 
passionate  love.  Conyngham  realised  this,  as  from 
a  distance,  while  Julia's  mother  spoke  of  some 
trivial  matter  of  the  moment  to  unheeding  ears. 
That  distance  seemed  now  to  exist  between  him 
and  all  women.  It  had  come  suddenly,  and  one 
glance  of  Estella's  eyes  had  called  it  into  existence. 

"  Yes,"  Senora  Barenna  was  saying,  "  Father 
Concha  is  very  angry  with  the  English.  What  a 
terrible  man !  You  do  not  know  him,  Senor 
Conyngham  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  have  met  him,  senora." 

"  Ah !  but  you  have  never  seen  him  angry. 
You  have  never  confessed  to  him  !  A  little,  little 
sin,  no  longer  than  the  eye  of  a  fly  —  a  little  bite 
of  a  calf's  sweetbread  on  Friday  in  mere  forgetful- 
ness  —  and,  Sancta  Maria,  what  a  penance  is 
required  !  What  suffering  !  It  is  a  purgatory  to 
have  such  a  confessor." 


84  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  Surely  madame  can  have  no  sins,"  said 
Conyngham,  pleasantly. 

"  Not  now,"  said  Senora  Barenna,  with  a  deep 
sigh.     "  When  I  was  young  it  was  different." 

And  the  memory  of  her  sinful  days  almost 
moved  her  to  tears.  She  glanced  at  Conyngham 
with  a  tragic  air  of  mutual  understanding,  as  if 
drawing  a  veil  over  that  blissful  past  in  the  pre- 
sence of  Julia  and  Estella.  "  Ask  me  another 
time,"  that  glance  seemed  to  say. 

"  Yes,"  the  lady  continued  ;  "  Father  Concha 
is  very  angry  with  the  English.  Firstly,  because  of 
these  Bibles.  Blessed  Heaven,  what  does  it  mat- 
ter !  No  one  can  read  them  except  the  priests, 
and  they  do  not  want  to  do  so.  Secondly,  be- 
cause the  English  have  helped  to  overthrow  Don 
Carlos—" 

"  You  will  have  a  penance,"  interrupted  Miss 
Julia  Barenna,  quietly,  "  from  Father  Concha  for 
talking  politics." 

"  But  how  will  he  know  ? "  asked  Senora 
Barenna,  sharply,  and  the  two  young  ladies  laughed. 

Senora  Barenna  looked  from  one  to  the  other 
and  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Like  many  women, 
she  was  a  strange  mixture  of  foolishness  and 
worldly  wisdom.  She  adjusted  her  mantilla  and 
mutely  appealed  to  heaven  with  a  glance  of  her 
upturned  eyes. 

Conyngham,  who  was  no  diplomatist  nor  pos- 
sessed any  skill  in  concealing  his  thoughts,  looked 


THE    LOVE-LETTER  85 

with  some  interest  at  Julia  Barenna,  and  Estella 
watched  him. 

"Julia  is  right,"  Senora  Barenna  was  saying, 
though  nobody  heeded  her.  "  One  must  not  talk 
nor  even  think  politics  in  this  country.  You  are 
no  politician,  I  trust,  Senor  Conyngham.  Senor 
Conyngham,  I  ask  you,  you  are  no  politician  ? ' 

"No,  senora,"  replied  Conyngham,  hastily  — 
"no;  and  if  I  were,  I  should  never  understand 
Spanish  politics." 

"  Father  Concha  says  that  Spanish  politics  are 
the  same  as  those  of  any  other  country  —  each 
man  for  himself,"  said  Julia,  with  a  bitter  laugh. 

"  And  he  is,  no  doubt,  right." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  "  asked  Julia  Ba- 
renna, with  more  earnestness  than  the  question 
would  seem  to  require.  "Are  there  not  true 
patriots  who  sacrifice  all  —  not  only  their  friends, 
but  themselves  — to  the  cause  of  their  country  ?  " 

"  Without  the  hope  of  reward  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  There  may  be,  senorita,  a  few,"  answered 
Conyngham,  with  a  laugh ;  "  but  not  in  my 
country.     They  must  all  be  in  Spain." 

She  smiled  and  shook  her  head  in  doubt,  but  it 
was  a  worn  smile. 

The  Englishman  turned  away  and  looked  through 
the  trees.  He  was  wondering  how  he  could  get 
speech  with  Julia  alone  for  a  moment. 

"You  are  admiring  the  garden,"  said  that  young 


86  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

lady,  and  this  time  he  knew  that  there  had  in 
reality  been  that  meaning  in  her  eyes  which  he  had 
imagined  to  be  there. 

"  Yes,  senorita ;  I  think  it  must  be  the  most 
beautiful  garden  in  the  world." 

He  turned  as  he  spoke  and  looked  at  Estella, 
who  met  his  glance  quietly.  Her  repose  of  manner 
struck  him  afresh.  Here  was  a  woman  having 
that  air  of  decision  which  exacts  respect  alike  from 
men  and  women.  Seen  thus  with  the  more 
vivacious  Julia  at  her  side,  Estella  gained  suddenly 
in  moral  strength  and  depth,  suggesting  a  hidden 
fire  in  contrast  to  a  flickering  will-o'-the-wisp 
blown  hither  and  thither  on  every  zephyr.  Yet 
Julia  Barenna  would  pass  anywhere  as  a  woman  of 
will  and  purpose. 

Julia  had  risen,  and  was  moving  toward  the 
exit  of  the  little  grove  in  which  they  found  them- 
selves.     Conyngham  had  never  been  seated. 

"  Are  the  violets  in  bloom,  Estella  ?  I  must 
see  them,"  said  the  visitor.  "We  have  none  at 
home,  where  all  is  dry  and  parched." 

"  So  bad  for  the  nerves  —  what  suffering  !  — 
such  a  dry  soil  that  one  cannot  sleep  at  night," 
murmured  Madame  Barenna,  preparing  to  rise 
from  her  seat. 

Julia  and  Conyngham  naturally  led  the  way. 
The  paths  winding  in  and  out  among  the  palms  and 
pepper-trees  were  of  a  width  that  allowed  two  to 
walk  abreast. 


THE   LOVE-LETTER  87 

"  Senorita,  I  have  a  letter  for  you." 

"  Not  yet ;  wait." 

Senora  Barenna  was  chattering  in  her  deep, 
husky  tones  immediately  behind  them.  Julia 
turned  and  looked  up  at  the  windows  of  the  house, 
which  commanded  a  full  view  of  the  garden.  The 
dwelling-rooms  were,  as  usual,  upon  the  first  floor, 
and  the  windows  were  lightly  barred  with  curiously 
wrought  iron.  Each  window  was  curtained  within 
with  lace  and  muslin. 

The  paths  wound  in  and  out  among  the  trees, 
but  none  of  these  was  large  enough  to  afford 
a  secure  screen  from  the  eye  of  any  watcher  within 
the  house.  There  was  neither  eucalyptus  nor 
ilex  in  the  garden,  which  are  heavy-leafed  and 
afford  shelter.  Julia  and  Conyngham  walked  on, 
outdistancing  the  elder  lady  and  Estella.  From 
these,  many  a  turn  in  the  path  hid  them  from  time 
to  time,  but  Julia  was  distrustful  of  the  windows, 
and  hesitated  in  an  agony  of  nervousness.  Conyng- 
ham saw  that  her  face  was  quite  colourless,  and 
her  teeth  closed  convulsively  over  her  lower  lip. 
He  continued  to  talk  of  indifferent  topics,  but  the 
answers  she  made  were  incoherent  and  broken. 
The  course  of  true  love  did  not  seem  to  run  smooth 
here. 

"  Shall  I  give  you  the  letter  ?  No  one  can  see 
us,  senorita.  Besides,  I  was  informed  that  it  is  of 
no  importance  except  to  yourself.  You  have 
doubtless  had  many  such  before,  unless  the  Spanish 
gentlemen  are  blind." 


88  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

He  laughed  and  felt  in  his  pocket. 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered.     "  Quickly  now  !  " 

He  gave  her  the  letter  in  its  romantic,  pink, 
scented  envelope,  with  a  half-suppressed  smile  at 
her  eagerness.  Would  anybody,  would  Estella 
ever  be  thus  agitated  at  the  receipt  of  a  letter  from 
himself?  They  were  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
garden,  which  was  divided  almost  in  two  by  a 
broader  pathway  leading  from  the  house  to  the 
centre  of  the  garden,  where  a  fountain  of  Moorish 
marble  formed  a  sort  of  carrefour,  from  which  the 
narrower  pathways  diverged  in  all  directions. 

Descending  the  steps  into  the  garden  from  the 
house  were  two  men,  one  talking  violently,  the 
other  seeking  to  calm  him. 

"  My  uncle  and  the  alcalde.  They  have  seen 
us  from  the  windows,"  said  Julia,  quickly.  All  her 
nervousness  of  manner  seemed  to  have  vanished, 
leaving  her  concentrated  and  alert.  Some  men 
are  thus  in  warfare,  nervous  until  the  rifles  open 
fire,  and  then  cool  and  ready. 

"  Quick,"  whispered  Julia,  "  let  us  turn  back." 

She  wheeled  round  and  Conyngham  did  the 
same. 

"  Julia,"  they  heard  General  Vincente  call  in 
his  gentle  voice. 

Julia,  who  was  tearing  the  pink  envelope,  took 
no  heed.  Within  the  first  covering  a  second 
envelope  appeared  bearing  a  longer  address. 

"  Give  that  to  the  man  whose  address  it  bears, 


THE   LOVE-LETTER  89 

and  save  me  from  ruin,"  said  the  girl,  thrusting  the 
letter  into  Conyngham's  hand.  She  kept  the  pink 
envelope. 

When,  a  minute  later,  they  came  face  to  face 
with  General  Vincente  and  his  companion,  a  white- 
faced,  fluttering  man  of  sixty  years,  Julia  Barenna 
received  them  with  a  smile.  There  are  some 
men  who,  conscious  of  their  own  quickness  of 
resource,  are  careless  of  danger  and  run  into  it 
from  mere  heedlessness,  trusting  to  good  fortune  to 
aid  them  should  peril  arise.  Frederick  Conyngham 
was  one  of  these.  He  now  suspected  that  this 
was  no  love-letter  which  the  man  called  Larralde 
had  given  him  in  Algeciras. 

"Julia,"  said  the  general,  "the  alcalde  desires 
to  speak  with  you." 

Julia  bowed  with  that  touch  of  hauteur  which 
in  Spain  the  nobles  ever  observe  in  their  manner 
toward  the  municipal  authorities. 

"  Mr.  Conyngham,"  continued  the  general, 
"  this  is  our  brave  mayor,  in  whose  hands  rests  the 
well-being  of  the  people  of  Ronda." 

"  Honoured  to  meet  you,"  said  Conyngham, 
holding  out  his  hand  with  that  frankness  of  man- 
ner which  he  accorded  to  great  and  small  alike. 
The  alcalde,  a  man  of  immense  importance  in  his 
own  estimation,  hesitated  before  accepting  it. 

"  General,"  he  said,  turning  and  bowing  very 
low  to  Senora  Barenna  and  Estella,  who  now 
joined    them  — "  general,    I    leave     you    to    ex- 


9o  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

plain  to  your  niece  the  painful  duties  of  my 
office." 

The  general  smiled,  and  raised  a  deprecating 
shoulder. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  he  said  kindly  to  Julia,  "  it 
appears  that  our  good  alcalde  has  news  of  a  letter 
which  is  at  present  passing  from  hand  to  hand  in 
Andalusia.  It  is  a  letter  of  some  importance. 
Our  good  mayor,  who  was  at  the  window  a  min- 
ute ago,  saw  Mr.  Conyngham  hand  you  a  letter. 
Between  persons  who  only  met  in  this  garden  five 
minutes  ago,  such  a  transaction  had  a  strange  air. 
Our  good  friend,  who  is  all  zeal  for  Spain  and  the 
people  of  Ronda,  merely  asks  you  if  his  eyes  de- 
ceived him.  It  is  a  matter  over  which  we  shall 
all  laugh  presently  over  a  lemonade ;  is  it  not  so  ? 
A  trifle  —  eh  ?  " 

He  passed  his  handkerchief  across  his  mous- 
tache, and  looked  affectionately  at  his  niece. 

"  A  letter  !  "  exclaimed  Julia.  "  Surely  the 
alcalde  presumes.  He  takes  too  much  upon 
himself." 

The  official  stepped  forward. 

"  Senorita,"  he  said,  "  I  must  be  allowed  to 
take  that  risk.  Did  this  gentleman  give  you  a 
letter   three    minutes   ago  ?  " 

Julia  laughed  and  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Yes." 

"  May  I  ask  the  nature  of  the  letter  ? " 

"  It  was  a  love-letter." 


THE   LOVE-LETTER  91 

Conyngham  bit  his  lip  and  looked  at  Estella. 

The  alcalde  looked  doubtful,  with  the  cunning 
lips  of  a  cheap  country  lawyer. 

"  A  love-letter  from  a  gentleman  you  have 
never  seen  before,"  he  said,  with  a  forced  laugh. 

"  Pardon  me,  Senor  Alcalde,  this  gentleman 
travelled  in  the  same  ship  with  my  mother  and 
myself  from  Bordeaux  to  Algeciras,  and  he  saved 
my  life." 

She  cast  a  momentary  glance  at  Conyngham, 
which  would  have  sealed  his  fate  had  the  fiery  Mr. 
Larralde  been  there  to  see  it.  The  prefect  paused, 
somewhat  taken  aback.  There  was  a  momentary 
silence,  and  every  moment  gave  Julia  and  Conyng- 
ham time  to  think. 

Then  the  alcalde  turned  to  Conyngham. 

"  It  will  give  me  the  greatest  pleasure,"  he 
said,  "  to  learn  that  I  have  been  mistaken.  I 
have  only  to  ask  this  gentleman's  confirmation  of 
what  the  senorita  has  said.  Is  it  true,  senor,  that 
you  surreptitiously  handed  to  the  Senorita  Barenna 
a  letter  expressing  your  love  ?  " 

"  Since  the  senorita  has  done  me  the  honour  of 
confessing  it,  I  must  ask  you  to  believe  it," 
answered  Conyngham,  steadily  and  with  coldness. 


CHAPTER   IX 

A     WAR     OF     WIT 

"La  discretion  est  Tart  du  mensonge." 

The  alcalde  blew  out  his  cheeks  and  looked  at 
General  Vincente.  Seilora  Barenna  would  with 
small  encouragement  have  thrown  herself  into 
Conyngham's  arms,  but  she  received  none  what- 
ever, and  instead  frowned  at  Julia.  E Stella  was 
looking  haughtily  at  her  father,  and  would  not 
meet  Conyngham's  glance. 

"  I  feel  sure,"  said  General  Vincente,  in  his 
most  conciliating  manner, "  that  my  dear  Julia  will 
see  the  necessity  of  satisfying  the  good  alcalde  by 
showing  him  the  letter,  with,  of  course,  the  con- 
sent of  my  friend  Conyngham." 

He  laughed  and  slipped  his  hand  within  Conyng- 
ham's arm. 

"  You  see,  my  dear  friend,"  he  said  in  English, 
"  these  local  magnates  are  a  little  inflated ;  local 
magnitude  is  a  little  inclined  to  inflate  —  eh  ?  Ha  ! 
ha !  And  it  is  so  easy  to  conciliate  them.  I 
always  try  to  do  so  myself.  Peace  at  any  price, 
that  is  my  motto." 

And  he  turned  aside  to  arrange  his  sword,  which 
dragged  on  the  ground. 


A    WAR    OF    WIT  93 

"  Tell  her,  my  dear  Conyngham,  to  let  the  old 
gentleman  read  the  letter." 

"  But  it  is  nothing  to  do  with  me,  general." 

"  I  know  that,  my  friend,  as  well  as  you  do," 
said  Vincente,  with  a  sudden  change  of  manner 
which  left  the  Englishman  with  an  uncomfortable 
desire  to  know  what  he  meant.  But  General 
Vincente,  in  pursuit  of  that  peace  which  had 
earned  him  such  a  terrible  reputation  in  war, 
turned  to  Senora  Barenna  with  his  most  reassuring 
smile. 

"  It  is  nothing,  my  dear  Inez,"  he  said.  "  In 
these  times  of  trouble,  the  officials  are  so  suspi- 
cious, and  our  dear  alcalde  knows  too  much.  He 
remembers  dear  Julia's  little  affair  with  Esteban 
Larralde,  now  long  since  lived  down  and  for- 
gotten. Larralde  is,  it  appears,  a  malcontent,  and 
on  the  wrong  side  of  the  wall.  You  need  have 
no  uneasiness.  Ah  !  your  nerves  ;  yes,  I  know. 
A  great  sufferer  —  yes,  I  remember.  Patience, 
dear  Inez,  patience." 

And  he  patted  her  stout  white  hand  affection- 
ately. 

The  alcalde  was  taking  snuff  with  a  stubborn 
air  of  disbelief,  glancing  the  while  suspiciously 
at  Conyngham,  who  had  eyes  for  none  but 
E  Stella. 

"  Alcalde,"  said  General  Vincente,  "  the  inci- 
dent is  past,  as  we  say  in  the  diplomatic  service 
—  a  lemonade  now." 


94  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  No,  general,  the  incident  is  not  past,  and  I 
will  not  have  a  lemonade." 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  General  Vincente,  in  gentle 
horror. 

"  Yes.  This  young  lady  must  give  me  the 
letter  or    I  call  in  my  men." 

"  But  your  men  could  not  touch  a  lady,  my 
dear  alcalde." 

"  You  may  be  the  alcalde  of  Ronda,"  said 
Conyngham,  cheerfully,  in  continuation  of  the 
general's  argument,  "  but  if  you  offer  such  an 
insult  to  Senorita  Barenna,  I  throw  you  into  the 
fountain  —  in  the  deepest  part,  where  it  is  wettest 
— just  there  by  the  marble  dolphin." 

And  Conyngham  indicated  the  exact  spot  with 
his  riding-whip. 

"  Who  is  this  gentleman  ?  "  asked  the  alcalde. 
The  question  was,  in  the  first  place,  addressed  to 
space  and  the  gods.  After  a  moment  the  speaker 
turned  to  General  Vincente. 

"A  prospective  aide-de-camp  of  General 
Espartero." 

At  the  mention  of  the  great  name  the  mayor  of 
Ronda  became  beautifully  less,  and  half  bowed  to 
Conyngham. 

"I  must  do  my  duty,"  he  said,  with  the  stub- 
bornness of  a  small  mind. 

"  And  what  do  you  conceive  that  to  be,  my 
dear  alcalde  ?  "  inquired  the  general. 

"  To  place  the    Senorita   Barenna  under  arrest, 


A   WAR   OF   WIT  95 

unless  she  will  hand  to   me   the   letter   she   has  in 
her  possession." 

Julia  looked  at  him  with  a  smile.  She  was  a 
brave  woman  playing  a  dangerous  game  with  con- 
summate courage,  and  never  glanced  at  Conyngham, 
who  with  an  effort  kept  his  hand  away  from  the 
pocket  where  the  letter  lay  concealed.  The  man- 
ner in  which  she  trusted  him  unreservedly  and 
entirely  was  in  itself  cunning  enough,  for  it  ap- 
pealed to  that  sense  of  chivalry  which  is  not  yet 
dead  in  men  despite  the  advance  of  women. 

"  Place  me  under  arrest,  Senor  Alcalde,"  she 
said  indifferently,  "  and  when  you  have  satisfied 
me  that  you  have  a  right  to  inspect  a  lady's  private 
correspondence,  I  will  submit  to  be  searched,  but 
not  before." 

She  made  a  little  signal  to  Conyngham  not  to 
interfere. 

Senora  Barenna  took  this  opportunity  of  assert- 
ing herself  and  nerves.  She  sat  heavily  down  on 
a  stone  seat  and  wept.  She  could  hardly  have 
done  better,  for  she  was  a  countess  in  her  own 
right,  and  the  sight  of  high-born  tears  distinctly 
unnerved  the  alcalde. 

"  Well,"  he  said, "  the  senorita  has  made  her  own 
choice.  In  these  times,"  he  glanced  nervously 
at  the  weeping  lady,  "  one  must  do  one's  duty." 

"  My  dear  Julia,"  protested  the  general,  "  you 
who  are  so  sensible — " 

Julia  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  laughed.      She 


96  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

not  only  trusted  Conyngham,  but  relied  upon  his 
intelligence.  It  is,  as  a  rule,  safer  to  confide  in 
the  honesty  of  one's  neighbour  than  in  his  wit. 
Better  still,  trust  in  neither.  Conyngham,  who 
was  quick  enough  when  the  moment  required  it, 
knew  that  she  was  fostering  the  belief  that  the  let- 
ter at  that  moment  in  his  pocket  was  in  her  pos- 
session. He  suspected  also  that  he  and  Julia 
Barenna  were  playing  with  life  and  death. 
Further,  he  recognised  her  and  her  voice.  This 
was  the  woman  who  had  shown  discrimination  and 
calmness  in  face  of  a  great  danger  on  the  Garonne. 
Had  this  Englishman,  owning  as  he  did  to  a  strain 
of  Irish  blood,  turned  his  back  upon  her  and 
danger  at  such  a  moment,  he  would  assuredly 
have  proved  himself  untrue  to  the  annals  of  that 
race  which  has  made  a  mark  upon  the  world  that 
will  never  be  wiped  out.  He  looked  at  the  alcalde 
and  smiled,  whereupon  that  official  turned  and 
made  a  signal  v/ith  his  hand  to  a  man  who,  dressed 
in  a  quiet  uniform,  had  appeared  in  the  doorway  of 
the  house. 

"  What  the  deuce  we  are  all  trying  to  do  I  don't 
know,"  reflected  Conyngham,  who,  indeed,  was 
sufficiently  at  sea  to  awake  the  most  dormant 
suspicions. 

The  alcalde,  now  thoroughly  aroused,  protested 
his  inability  to  neglect  a  particle  of  his  duty  at  this 
troubled  period  of  Spain's  history,  and  announced 
his  intention  of  placing  Julia   Barenna  under  sur- 


A   WAR    OF   WIT 


97 


veillance  until  she  handed  to  him  the  letter  she  had 
received  from  Conyngham. 

"  I  am  quite  prepared,"  he  added,  "  to  give  this 
caballero  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  and  assume  that 
he  has  been  in  this  matter  the  tool  of  unscrupulous 
persons.  Seeing  that  he  is  a  friend  of  General 
Vincente's,  and  has  an  introduction  to  his  excel- 
lency the  Duke  of  Vittoria,  he  is  without  the  pale 
of  my  jurisdiction." 

The  alcalde  made  Conyngham  a  profound  bow, 
and  proceeded  to  conduct  Julia  and  her  indignant 
mother  to  their  carriage. 

"  There  goes,"  said  General  Vincente,  with  his 
most  optimistic  little  chuckle,  "  a  young  woman 
whose  head  will  always  be  endangered  by  her 
heart."  And  he  nodded  toward  Julia's  retreating 
form. 

Estella  turned  and  walked  away  by  herself. 

"  Come,"  said  the  general  to  Conyngham,  "  let 
us  sit  down  ;  I  have  news  for  you.  But  what  a 
susceptible  heart,  my  dear  young  friend  —  what  a 
susceptible  heart  !  Julia  is,  I  admit,  a  very  pretty 
girl  —  la  beaut'e  du  (liable  —  eh  ?  But  on  so  short 
an  acquaintance  rather  rapid  —  rather  rapid  !  " 

As  he  spoke  he  was  searching  among  some  let- 
ters, which  he  had  produced  from  his  pocket,  and 
at  length  found  an  official  envelope  that  had  already 
been  opened. 

"  I  have  here,"  he  said,  "  a  letter  from  Madrid. 
You  have  only  to  proceed  to  the  capital,  and  there, 

7 


98  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

I  hope,  a  post  awaits  you.  Your  duties  will  at 
present  be  of  a  semi-military  character,  but  later, 
I  hope,  we  can  show  you  some  righting.  This 
pestilential  Cabrera  is  not  yet  quelled,  and  Morella 
still  holds  out.     Yes,  there  will  be  fighting." 

He  closed  the  letter  and  looked  at  Conyngham. 

"  If  that  is  what  you  want,"  he  added. 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  I  want." 

The  general  nodded  and  rose,  pausing  to  brush 
a  few  grains  of  dust  from  his  dapper  riding 
breeches. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "  I  have  seen  a  horse  which 
will  suit  you,  at  the  cavalry  quarters  in  the  Calle 
de  Bobadilla.     Shall  we  go  and  look  at  him  ?  " 

Conyngham  expressed  his  readiness  to  do  as  the 
general  proposed. 

"  When  shall  I  start  for  Madrid  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  to-morrow  morning  will  be  time  enough," 
was  the  reply,  uttered  in  an  easy-going,  indolent 
tone,  "  if  you  are  early  astir.  You  see,  it  is  now 
nearly  five  o'clock,  and  you  could  scarcely  be  in 
the  saddle  before  sunset." 

"  No,"  laughed  Conyngham ;  "  scarcely,  consid- 
ering that  I  have  not  yet  bought  the  saddle  or  the 
horse." 

The  general  led  the  way  into  the  house,  and 
Conyngham  thought  of  the  letter  in  his  pocket. 
He  had  not  yet  read  the  address.  Julia  relied  upon 
him  to  deliver  it,  and  her  conduct  toward  the 
alcalde  had  the  evident  object  of  gaining   time   for 


A   WAR   OF   WIT  99 

him  to  do  so.  She  had  unhesitatingly  thrust  her- 
self into  a  position  of  danger  to  screen  him  and 
further  her  own  indomitable  purpose.  He  thought 
of  her,  still  as  from  a  distance  at  which  Estella  had 
placed  him,  and  knew  that  she  not  only  had  a  dis- 
quieting beauty,  but  cleverness  and  courage,  which 
are  qualities  that  outlast  beauty  and  make  a  woman 
powerful  forever. 

When  he  and  his  companion  emerged  from  the 
great  doorway  of  the  house  into  the  sunlight  of  the 
Calle  Mayor  a  man  came  forward  from  the  shade 
of  a  neighbouring  doorway.  It  was  Concepcion 
Vara,  leisurely  and  dignified,  twirling  a  cigarette 
between  his  brown  fingers.  He  saluted  the  general 
with  one  finger  to  the  brim  of  his  shabby  felt  hat, 
as  one  great  man  might  salute  another.  He 
nodded  to  Conyngham. 

"  When  does  his  excellency  take  the  road 
again  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  am  ready.  The  guardia 
civile  were  mistaken  this  time  ;  the  judge  said  there 
was  no  stain  upon  my  name." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulder  and  waived  away  the 
slight  put  upon  him  with  the  magnanimity  of  one 
who  can  forgive  and  forget. 

"  I  take  the  road  to-morrow ;  but  our  contract 
ceased  at  Ronda.  I  had  no  intention  of  taking 
you  on." 

"  You  are  not  satisfied  with  me  ? "  inquired 
Concepcion,  offering  his  interlocutor  the  cigarette 
he  had  just  made. 


ioo  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

«  Oh,  yes." 

"  Buen  !     We  take  the  road  together." 

"  Then  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said  ?  "  in- 
quired Conyngham,  with  a  good-natured  laugh. 

"  Nothing,  except  the  hour  at  which  your  excel- 
lency starts." 

"  Six  o'clock,"  put  in  General  Vincente,  quietly. 
"  Let  me  see  ;  your  name  is  Concepcion  Vara." 

"  Yes,  excellency,  of  Algeciras." 

"  It  is  well.  Then  serve  this  gentleman  well, 
or  else  —  "  the  general  paused  and  laughed  in  his 
most  deprecating  manner. 

Concepcion  seemed  to  understand,  for  he  took 
off  his  hat  and  turned  gravely  away.  The  general 
and  Conyngham  walked  rapidly  through  the  streets 
of  Ronda,  than  which  there  are  none  cleaner  in  the 
whole  world,  and  duly  bought  a  great  black  horse 
at  a  price  which  seemed  moderate  enough  to  the 
Englishman,  though  the  vendor  explained  that  the 
long  war  had  made  horseflesh  rise  in  value. 
Conyngham,  at  no  time  a  keen  bargainer,  hurried 
the  matter  to  an  end,  and  scarce  examined  the  sad- 
dle. He  was  anxious  to  get  back  to  the  garden  of 
the  great  house  in  the  Calle  Mayor  before  the 
cool  of  the  evening  came  to  drive  Estella  indoors. 

"  You  will  doubtless  wish  to  pack  your  portman- 
teau," said  the  general,  rather  breathlessly,  as  he 
hurried  along  with  small  steps  beside  Conyngham. 

"  Yes,"  answered  that  Englishman,  ingenuously 
—  "  yes,  of  course." 


A   WAR    OF    WIT  101 

"  Then  I  will  not  detain  you,"  said  General 
Vincente  ;  "  I  have  affairs  at  headquarters.  We 
meet  at  dinner,  of  course.'' 

He  waved  a  little  salutation  with  his  whip,  and 
took  a  side  turning. 

The  sun  had  not  set  when  Conyngham,  with  a 
beating  heart,  made  his  way  through  the  house  into 
the  garden.  He  had  never  been  so  serious  about 
anything  in  his  life ;  indeed,  his  life  seemed  only  to 
have  begun  in  that  garden.  Estella  was  there. 
He  saw  her  black  dress  and  mantilla  through  the 
trees,  and  the  gleam  of  her  golden  hair  made  his 
eyes  almost  fierce  for  a  moment. 

"  I  am  going  to-morrow  morning,"  he  said 
bluntly,  when  he  reached  her  where  she  sat  in  the 
shade  of  a  mimosa. 

She  raised  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  deep  velvet 
eyes,  with  a  glowing  depth  of  passion  in  them  that 
made  his  heart  leap  within  his  breast. 

"  And  I  love  you,  Estella,"  he  added.  "  You 
may  be  offended,  you  may  despise  me,  you  may 
distrust  me ;  but  nothing  can  alter  me.  I  love 
you  now  and  ever." 

She  drew  a  deep  breath  and  sat  motionless. 

"  How  many  women  does  an  Englishman  love 
at  once  ?  "  she  asked  coldly  at  length. 

"  Only  one,  senorita." 

He  stood  looking  at  her  for  a  moment.  Then 
she  rose  and  walked  past  him  into  the  house. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE    CITY    OF    DISCONTENT 

"  En  paroles  ou  en  actions,  etre  discret,  c'est  s'abstenir." 

"  There  is,"  observed  Frederick  Conyngham  to 
himself,  as  he  climbed  into  the  saddle  in  the  gray 
dawn  of  the  following  morning  —  "  there  is  a  cer- 
tain picturesqueness  about  these  proceedings  which 
pleases  me." 

Concepcion  Vara,  indeed,  supplied  a  portion  of 
this  romantic  atmosphere,  for  he  was  dressed  in 
the  height  of  contrabandista  fashion,  with  a  bright- 
coloured  handkerchief  folded  round  his  head  under- 
neath his  black  hat,  a  scarlet  waistcloth,  a  spotless 
shirt,  and  a  flower  in  the  ribbon  of  his  hat. 

He  was  dignified  and  leisurely,  but  so  far  forgot 
himself  as  to  sing  as  he  threw  his  leg  across  his 
horse.  A  dark-eyed  maiden  had  come  as  far  as 
the  corner  of  the  Calle  Vieja,  and  stood  there 
watching  him  with  mournful  eyes.  He  waved  her 
salutation  as  he  passed. 

"  It  is  the  waiting-maid  at  the  venta  where  I  stay 
in  Ronda.  What  will  you  ?  "  he  explained  to 
Conyngham  with  a  modest  air,  as  he  cocked  his 
hat  further   on  one   side. 


THE   CITY   OF   DISCONTENT 


103 


The  sun  rose  as  they  emerged  from  the  narrow 
streets  into  the  open  country  that  borders  the  road 
to  Bobadilla.  A  pastoral  country  this,  where  the 
land  needs  little  care  to  make  it  give  more  than 
man  requires  for  his  daily  food.  The  evergreen  oak 
studded  over  the  whole  plain  supplies  food  for  count- 
less pigs,  and  shade,  where  the  herdsmen  may  dream 
away  the  sunny  days.  The  rich  soil  would  yield 
two  or  even  three  crops  in  the  year  were  the  neces- 
sary seed  and  labour  forthcoming.  Underground 
the  mineral  wealth  outvies  the  richness  of  the  sur- 
face, but  national  indolence  leaves  it  unexplored. 

"  Before  General  Vincente  one  could  not  ex- 
plain one's  self,"  said  Concepcion,  urging  his  horse 
to  keep  pace  with  the  trot  of  Conyngham's  mount. 

«  Ah  !  " 

"  No,"  pursued  Concepcion ;  "  and  yet  it  is 
simple.  In  Algeciras  I  have  a  wife.  It  is  well 
that  a  man  should  travel  at  times.  So  "  —  he 
paused  and  bowed  toward  his  companion  with  a 
gesture  of  infinite  condescension — "  so  we  take 
the  road  together." 

"  As  long  as  you  are  pleased,  Senor  Vara," 
said  Conyngham,  "  I  am  sure  I  can  but  feel  hon- 
oured.    You  know  I  have  no  money." 

The  Spaniard  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  What  matter  ?  "  he  said  —  "  what  matter  ? 
We  can  keep  an  account  —  a  mere  piece  of  paper  — 
so,  Concepcion  Vara,  of  Algeciras,  in  account 
current   with  F.  Conyngham,  Englishman.     One 


io4  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

month's  wages  at  one  hundred  pesetas.  It  is 
simple." 

"  Very,"  acquiesced  Conyngham ;  "  it  is  only 
when  pay-day  comes  that  things  will  get  com- 
plicated." 

Concepcion  laughed. 

"  You  are  a  caballero  after  my  own  heart,"  he 
said.  "  We  shall  enjoy  ourselves  in  Madrid.  I 
see  that." 

Conyngham  did  not  answer.  He  had  remem- 
bered the  letter  and  Julia  Barenna's  danger.  He 
rose  in  his  stirrups  and  looked  behind  him.  Ronda 
was  already  hidden  by  intervening  hills,  and  the 
bare  line  of  the  roadway  was  unbroken  by  the 
form   of  any  other  traveller. 

"We  are  not  going  to  Madrid  yet,"  said 
Conyngham  ;  "  we  are  going  to  Xeres,  where  I 
have  business.      Do  you  know  the  road  to  Xeres  ? " 

"  As  well  that  as  any  other,  excellency." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  know  no  roads  north  of  Ronda.  I  am  of 
Andalusia,  I,"  replied  Concepcion,  easily,  and  he 
looked  round  about  him  with  an  air  of  interest 
which  was  more  to  the  credit  of  his  intelligence 
as  a  traveller  than  his  reliability  as  a  guide. 

"  But  you  engaged  to  guide  me  to  Madrid." 

"  Yes,  excellency,  by  asking  the  way,"  replied 
Concepcion,  with  an  easy  laugh,  and  he  struck  a 
sulphur  match  on  the  neck  of  his  horse  to  light  a 
fresh  cigarette. 


THE   CITY   OF   DISCONTENT     105 

Thus  with  an  easy  heart  Frederick  Conyngham 
set  out  on  his  journey,  having  for  companion  one 
as  irresponsible  as  himself.  He  had  determined  to 
go  to  Xeres,  though  that  town  of  ill-repute  lay  far 
to  the  westward  of  his  road  toward  the  capital.  It 
would  have  been  simple  enough  to  destroy  the 
letter  entrusted  to  him  by  Julia  Barenna,  a  stranger 
whom  he  was  likely  never  to  see  again  —  simple 
enough  and  infinitely  safer,  as  he  suspected,  for  the 
billet-doux  of  Mr.  Larralde  smelt  of  grimmer 
things  than  love.  But  Julia  Barenna,  wittingly  or 
in  all  innocence,  appealed  to  that  sense  of  chivalry 
which  is  essentially  the  quality  of  lonely  men  who 
have  never  had  sisters,  and  Conyngham  was  ready 
to  help  Julia  where  he  would  have  refused  his 
assistance  to  a  man,  however  hard  pressed. 

"Cannot  leave  the  girl  in  a  hole,"  he  had  said 
to  himself,  and  proceeded  to  act  upon  this  resolu- 
tion with  a  steadiness  of  purpose  for  which  some 
may  blame  him. 

It  was  evening  when  the  two  travellers  reached 
Xeres,  after  some  weary  hours  of  monotonous 
progress  through  the  vine-clad  plains  of  this, 
country. 

"  It  is  no  wonder,"  said  Concepcion,  "  that  the 
men  of  Xeres  are  malcontents  when  they  live  in  a 
country  as  flat  as  the  palm  of  my  hand." 

It  happened  to  be  a  fete  day,  which  in  Spain,  as 
in  other  countries  farther  North,  is  synonymous 
with    mischief.     The    men    of  Xeres   had    taken 


106  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

advantage  of  this  holiday  to  demonstrate  their  de- 
sire for  more.  They  had  marched  through  the 
streets  with  banner  and  song,  arrayed  in  their  best 
clothes,  fostering  their  worst  thoughts.  They  had 
consumed  marvellous  quantities  of  that  small 
amontillado,  which  is,  as  it  were,  as  thin  fire  to 
the  blood,  heating  and  degenerating  at  once.  They 
had  talked  much  nonsense  and  listened  to  more. 
Carlist  or  Christino,  it  was  all  the  same  to  them 
so  long  as  they  had  a  change  of  some  sort.  In 
the  mean  time  they  had  a  desire  to  break  some- 
thing,  if  only   to   assert  their  liberty. 

A  few  minutes  before  Conyngham  and  his  guide 
rode  into  the  market-place,  which  in  Xeres  is  as 
long  as  a  street,  some  of  the  free  sons  of  Spain  had 
thought  fit  to  shout  insulting  remarks  to  a  passer- 
by. With  a  fire  too  bright  for  his  years,  this  old 
gentleman,  with  fierce  white  moustache  and  impe- 
rial, had  turned  on  them,  calling  them  good-for- 
nothings   and    sons  of  pigs. 

Conyngham  rode  up  just  in  time  to  see  the 
ruffians  rise  as  one  man  and  rush  at  the  victim  of 
their  humour.  The  old  man,  with  his  back  to  the 
wall,  beat  back  his  assailants  with  a  sort  of  fierce 
joy  in  his  attitude  which  betokened  the  old  soldier. 

"  Come  on,  Concepcion,"  cried  Conyngham, 
with  a  dig  of  the  spurs  that  made  his  tired  horse 
leap  into  the  air.  He  charged  down  upon  the 
gathering  crowd,  which  scattered  right  and  left 
before  the  wild  onslaught}   but  he   saw  the   flash 


THE   CITY   OF   DISCONTENT     107 

of  steel,  and  knew  that  it  was  too  late.  The  old 
man,  with  an  oath  and  a  gasp  of  pain,  sank  against 
the  wall  with  the  blood  trickling  through  the 
fingers  clasped  .against  his  breast.  Conyngham 
would  have  reined  in,  but  Concepcion  on  his 
heels  gave  the  charger  a  cut  with  his  heavy  whip 
that  made  him  bound  forward,  and  would  have 
unseated  a  short-stirruped   rider. 

"  Go  on  !  "  cried  the  Spaniard  ;  "  it  is  no  busi- 
ness of  ours.     The   police  are   behind." 

And  Conyngham,  remembering  the  letter  in  his 
pocket,  rode  on  without  looking  back.  In  the 
day  of  which  the  present  narrative  treats  the  streets 
of  Xeres  were  but  ill-paved,  and  the  dust  lay  on 
them  to  the  depth  of  many  inches,  serving  to 
deaden  the  sound  of  footsteps  and  facilitate  the 
commission  of  such  deeds  of  violence  as  were  at 
this  time  of  daily  occurrence  in  Spain.  Riding  on 
at  random,  Conyngham  and  his  companion  soon 
lost  their  way  in  the  narrow  streets,  and  were  able 
to  satisfy  themselves  that  none  had  followed  them. 
Here,  in  a  quiet  alley,  Conyngham  read  again  the 
address  of  the  letter  of  which  he  earnestly  desired 
to  rid  himself  without  more  ado. 

It  was  addressed  to  Colonel  Monreal,  at  No.  84 
Plaza  de  Cadiz. 

"  Let  his  excellency  stay  here  and  drink  a  glass 
of  wine  at  this  venta"  said  Concepcion.  "  Alone, 
I  shall  be  able  to  get  information  without  attract- 
ing attention.      And  then  in  the  name  of  the  saints 


108  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

let  us  shake  the  dust  of  Xeres  off  our  feet.  The 
first  thing  we  see  is  steel,  and  I  do  not  like  it.  I 
have  a  wife  in  Algeciras,  to  whom  I  am  much 
attached,  and  I  am  afraid  —  yes,  afraid.  A  gentle- 
man need  never  hesitate  to  say  so." 

He  shook  his  head  forebodingly  as  he  loosened 
his  girths  and  called  for  water  for  the  horses. 

"  I  could  eat  a  cocida"  he  went  on,  sniffing  the 
odours  of  a  neighbouring  kitchen,  "  with  plenty  of 
onions  and  all  the  mutton  as  becomes  the  spring- 
time, young  and  tender.  Dios !  this  quick  travel- 
ling and  an  empty  stomach,  it  kills  one." 

"  When  I  have  delivered  my  letter,"  replied 
Conyngham,  "  we  shall  eat  with  a  lighter  heart." 

Concepcion  went  away  in  a  pessimistic  humour. 
He  was  one  of  those  men  who  are  brave  enough 
on  good  wine  and  victuals,  but  lack  the  stamina  to 
fight  when  hungry.  He  returned  presently  with 
the  required  information.  The  Plaza  de  Cadiz 
was,  it  appeared,  quite  close.  Indeed,  the  town  of 
Xeres  is  not  large,  though  the  intricacies  of  its 
narrow  streets  may  well  puzzle  a  newcomer.  No. 
84  was  the  house  of  the  barber,  and  on  his  first 
floor  lived  Colonel  Monreal,  a  retired  veteran  who 
had  fought  with  the  English  against  Napoleon's 
armies. 

During  his  servant's  absence  Conyngham  had 
written  a  short  note  in  French,  conveying  in  terms 
which  she  would  understand,  the  news  that  Julia 
Barenna     doubtless    awaited    with    impatience  — 


THE   CITY   OF   DISCONTENT     109 

namely,  that  her  letter  had  been  delivered  to  him 
whose  address  it  bore. 

"  I  have  ordered  your  cocida  and  some  good 
wine,"  he  said  to  Concepcion.  "  Your  horse  also 
is  feeding.  Make  good  use  of  your  time,  for  when 
I  return  I  shall  want  you  to  take  the  road  again  at 
once.  You  must  make  ten  miles  before  sleep  to- 
night, and  then  an  early  start  in  the  morning." 

"  For  where,  seiior  ?  " 

«  For  Ronda." 

Concepcion  shrugged  his  shoulders.  His  life  had 
been  spent  upon  the  road,  his  wardrobe  since  child- 
hood had  been  contained  in  a  saddle-bag,  and 
Spaniards,  above  all  people,  have  the  curse  of 
Ishmael.  They  are  a  homeless  race,  and  lay  them 
down  to  sleep  when  fatigue  overtakes  them  under 
a  tree  or  in  the  shade  of  a  stone  wall.  It  often 
happens  that  a  worker  in  the  fields  will  content 
himself  with  the  lee  side  of  a  haystack  for  his  rest- 
ing-place, when  his  home  is  only  a  few  hundred 
yards  up  the  mountain-side. 

"  And  his  excellency  ?  "  inquired  Concepcion. 

"  I  shall  sleep  here  to-night  and  proceed  to 
Madrid  to-morrow  by  way  of  Cordova,  where  I 
will  wait  for  you.  I  have  a  letter  here  which  you 
must  deliver  to  the  Sefiorita  Barenna,  at  Ronda, 
without  the  knowledge  of  any  one.  It  will  be  well 
that  neither  General  Vincente  nor  any  other  who 
knows  you  should  catch  sight  of  you  in  the  streets 
of  Ronda." 


no  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

Concepcion  nodded  his  head  with  much 
philosophy. 

"Ah!  these  women,"  he  said,  turning  to  the 
steaming  dish  of  mutton  and  vegetables,  which  is 
almost  universal  in  the  South  — "  these  women, 
what  shoe  leather  they  cost  us  !  " 

Leaving  his  servant  thus  profitably  employed, 
Conyngham  set  out  to  find  the  barber's  shop  in  the 
Plaza  de  Cadiz.  This  he  did  without  difficulty, 
but  on  informing  himself  at  the  door  of  Colonel 
Monreal's  apartment  learnt  that  that  gentleman 
was  out. 

"  But,"  added  the  servant,  "  the  colonel  is  a 
man  of  regular  habits.  He  will  return  within  the 
next  fifteen  minutes,  for  he  dines  at  five." 

Conyngham  paused.  He  had  no  desire  to  make 
Colonel  Monreal's  acquaintance  ;  indeed,  preferred 
to  remain  without  it,  for  he  rightly  judged  that  Senor 
Larralde  was  engaged  in  affairs  best  left  alone. 

"  I  have  a  letter  for  the  colonel,"  he  said  to  the 
servant,  a  man  of  stupid  countenance.  "  I  will 
place  it  here  upon  his  table,  and  can,  no  doubt, 
trust  you  to  see  that  he  gets  it." 

"That  you  can,  excellency,"  replied  the  man, 
with  a  palm  already  half  extended  to  receive  a 
gratuity. 

"  If  the  colonel  fails  to  receive  the  letter  I  shall 
certainly  know  it,"  said  Conyngham,  stumbling 
down  the  dark  staircase  and  well  pleased  to  have 
accomplished  his  mission. 


THE    CITY   OF   DISCONTENT     in 

He  returned  with  all  speed  to  the  inn  in  the 
quiet  alley,  where  he  had  elected  to  pass  the  night, 
and  found  Concepcion  still  at  table. 

"  In  half  an  hour  I  take  the  road,"  said  the 
Spaniard  ;  "  the  time  for  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  I  am 
ready  to  ride  all  night." 

Having  eaten,  Concepcion  was  in  a  better  frame 
of  mind,  and  now  cheerfully  undertook  to  carry 
out  his  master's  instructions.  In  little  more  than 
half  an  hour  he  was  in  the  saddle  again,  and  waved 
an  airy  adieu  to  Conyngham  as  he  passed  under 
the  swinging  oil-lamps  that  hung  at  the  corner  of 
the  street. 

It  was  yet  early  in  the  evening,  and  Conyng- 
ham, having  dined,  set  out  to  explore  the  streets 
of  Xeres,  which  were  quiet  enough  now,  as  the 
cafes  were  gayer  and  safer  than  the  gloomy  thor- 
oughfares, where  a  foe  might  be  in  every  doorway. 
In  the  market-place,  between  rows  of  booths  and 
tents,  a  dense  crowd  walked  backward  and  for- 
ward, with  that  steady  sense  of  promenading  which 
the  Spaniard  understands  above  all  other  men. 
The  dealers  in  coloured  handkerchiefs  from  Bar- 
celona or  mantillas  from  Seville  were  driving  a 
great  trade,  and  the  majority  of  them  had  long 
since  shouted  themselves  hoarse.  A  few  quack 
dentists  were  operating  upon  their  victims  under 
the  friendly  covert  of  a  big  drum  and  a  bassoon. 
Dealers  in  wonderful  drugs  and  herbs  were  ha- 
ranguing the  crowd,  easily  gaining  the  attention  of 


ii2  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

the  simple  peasants  by  handling  a  live  snake  or  a 
crocodile,  which  they  allowed  to  crawl  upon  their 
shoulders. 

Conyngham  mingled  in  the  crowd,  which  was 
orderly  enough,  and  amused  himself  by  noting  the 
credulity  of  the  country  folk,  until  his  attention 
was  attracted  by  a  solemn  procession  passing  up 
the  market-place  behind  the  tents.  He  inquired  of 
a  bystander  what  this  might  be. 

"  It  is  the  police  carrying  to  his  appartement  the 
body  of  Colonel  Monreal,  who  was  murdered  this 
afternoon  in  the  Plaza  Mayor,"  was  the  answer. 

Conyngham  made  his  way  between  two  tents  to 
the  deserted  side  of  the  market-place,  and  running 
past  the  procession,  reached  the  barber's  shop  be- 
fore it.  In  answer  to  his  summons  a  girl  came  to 
the  door  of  the  colonel's  appartement.  She  was 
weeping  and  moaning  in  great  mental  distress. 

Without  explanation  Conyngham  pushed  past 
her  into  the  room  where  he  had  deposited  the  let- 
ter. The  room  was  in  disorder,  and  no  letter  lay 
upon  the  table. 

"  It  is,"  sobbed  the  girl,  "  my  husband,  who, 
having  heard  that  the  good  colonel  had  been  mur- 
dered, stole  all  his  valuables  and  papers,  and  has 
run  away  from  me." 


CHAPTER   XI 


A    TANGLED     WEB 


"  Wherein  I  am  false,  I  am  honest ;  not  true  to  be 
true." 

"  And  would  you  believe  it,  there  are  soldiers  in 
the  house,  at  the  very  door  of  Julia's  apartments." 
Senora  Barenna,  who  made  this  remark,  heaved  a 
sigh  and  sat  back  in  her  cane-work  chair  with  that 
jerkiness  of  action  which  in  elderly  ladies  usually 
betokens  impatience  with  the  ways  of  young  people. 

"  Policemen  —  policemen,  not  soldiers,"  cor- 
rected Father  Concha,  patiently,  as  if  it  did  not 
matter  much.  They  were  sitting  in  the  broad, 
vine-clad  veranda  of  the  Casa  Barenna,  that  grim 
old  house  on  the  Bobadilla  road,  two  miles  from 
Ronda.  The  priest  had  walked  thither,  as  the 
dust  on  his  square-toed  shoes  and  black  stockings 
would  testify.  He  had  laid  aside  his  mournful  old 
hat,  long  since  brown  and  discoloured,  and  was 
wiping  his  forehead  with  a  cheap  pocket-handker- 
chief of  colour  and  pattern  rather  loud  for  his  sta- 
tion in  life. 

"  Well,  they  have  swords,"  persisted  the  lady. 

"  Policemen,"  said  Father  Concha,  in  a  stern  and 
final     voice,    which    caused    Senora     Barenna    to 

8 


ii4  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

cast  her  eyes  upward  with  an  air  of  resigned 
martyrdom. 

"  Ah,  that  alcalde  !  "  she  whispered  between  her 
teeth. 

"  A  little  dog  when  it  is  afraid  growls,"  said 
Concha,  philosophically.  "  The  alcalde  is  a  very 
small  dog,  and  he  is  at  his  wits'  end.  Such  a 
thing  has  not  occurred  in  Ronda  before,  and  the 
alcalde's  world  is  Ronda.  He  does  not  know 
whether  his  office  permits  him  to  inspect  young 
ladies'  love-letters  or  not." 

"  Love-letters  !  "  ejaculated  Seiiora  Barenna. 
She  evidently  had  a  keen  sense  of  the  romantic, 
and  hoped  for  something  more  tragic  than  a  mere 
flirtation  begotten  of  idleness  at  sea. 

"  Yes,"  said  Concha,  crossing  his  legs  and  look- 
ing at  his  companion  with  a  queer  cynicism ; 
"young  people  mostly  pass  that  way." 

He  had  had  a  tragedy,  this  old  man,  one  of  those 
grim  tragedies  of  the  cassock  which  English  people 
rarely  understand.  And  his  tragedy  sat  beside  him 
on  the  cane  chair,  stout  and  eminently  worldly, 
while  he  had  journeyed  on  the  road  of  life  with  all 
his  illusions,  all  his  half-fledged  aspirations  un- 
touched by  the  cold  finger  of  reality.  He  despised 
the  woman  now.  The  contempt  lurked  in  his 
cynical  smile,  but  he  clung  with  a  half-mocking, 
open-eyed  sarcasm  to  his  memories. 

"  But,"  he  said  reassuringly,  "  Julia  is  a  match 
for  the  alcalde,  you  may  rest  assured  of  that." 


A   TANGLED   WEB  115 

Senora  Barenna  turned  with  a  gesture  of  her 
plump  hands  indicative  of  bewilderment. 

"  I  do  not  understand  her.  She  laughs  at  the 
soldiers  —  the  policemen,  I  mean.  She  laughs 
at  me.     She  laughs  at  everything." 

"  Yes  ;  it  is  the  hollow  hearts  that  make  most 
noise  in  the  world,"  said  Concha,  folding  his 
handkerchief  upon  his  knee.  He  was  deadly  poor, 
and  had  a  theory  that  a  folded  handkerchief  re- 
mains longer  clean.  His  whole  existence  was  an 
effort  to  do  without  those  things  that  make  life 
worth  having. 

"  Why  did  you  send  for  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  But  to  advise  me,  to  help  me.  I  have  been 
all  my  life  cast  upon  the  world  alone  —  no  one  to 
help  me,  no  one  to  understand.  No  one  knows 
what  I  have  suffered.   .   .   .     My  husband — " 

"  Was  one  of  the  best  and  most  patient  of 
mortals,  and  is  assuredly  in  heaven,  where,  I 
hope,  there  are  a  few  mansions  reserved  for  men 
only." 

Senora  Barenna  fetched  one  of  her  deepest 
sighs.  She  had  a  few  lurking  at  the  depths  of  her 
capacious  being  reserved  for  such  occasions  as  this. 
It  was,  it  seemed,  no  more  than  her  life  had  led 
her  to  expect. 

"  You  have  had,"  went  on  her  spiritual  adviser, 
"  a  life  of  ease  and  luxury,  a  husband  who  denied 
you  nothing.  You  have  never  lost  a  child  by 
death,  which,   I   understand,   is  .   .  .  one  of  the 


n6  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

greatest  sorrows  that  God  sends  to  women.  You 
are  an  ungrateful  female." 

Sefiora  Barenna,  whose  face  would  have  graced 
one  of  the  very  earliest  of  the  martyrs,  sat  with 
folded  hands  waiting  until  the  storm  should  pass. 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  see  Julia  ?  "  asked  Concha, 
abruptly. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  and  persuade  her  to  conciliate  the 
alcalde,  to  tell  him  some  story  or  another.  It  does 
not  surely  matter  if  it  be  not  the  strict  truth  — 
anything  to  get  these  men  out  of  the  house.  My 
maid,  Maria,  is  so  flighty  !  Ah,  those  young 
people  !  What  a  trial,  my  dear  padre  —  what  a 
trial  !  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Father  Concha  ;  "  but  what 
a  dull  world  it  would  be  if  our  neighbour  knew 
how  to  manage  his  own  affairs.  Shall  we  go  to 
Julia  ? " 

The  perturbed  lady  preferred  that  the  priest 
should  see  her  daughter  alone.  A  military-looking 
individual  in  white  trousers  and  a  dark-green  tunic 
stood  guard  over  the  door  of  Julia's  apartment, 
seeking  by  his  attitude  and  the  curl  of  his  mous- 
tache to  magnify  his  office  in  the  eyes  of  a  maid 
who  happened  to  have  an  unusual  amount  of  clean- 
ing to  do  in  that  particular  corridor. 

"  Ah ! "  said  Father  Concha,  by  no  means 
abashed  by  the  sentinel's  sword  — "  ah,  it  is  you, 
Manuel.  Your  wife  tells  me  you  have  objections 
to  the  christening  of  that  last  boy  of  yours  —  No. 


A   TANGLED    WEB  117 

5  I  think.  Bring  No.  5  on  Sunday,  after  vespers  — 
eh  ?  You  understand,  and  a  little  something  for 
the  poor.  It  is  pay-day  on  Saturday.  And  no 
more  nonsense  about  religion.      Manuel  —  eh  ?  " 

He  shook  his  lean  finger  in  the  official's  face 
and  walked  on  unchallenged. 

"  May  I  come  in  ? "  he  said,  tapping  at  the  door, 
and  Julia's  voice  bade  him  enter. 

He  closed  the  door  behind  him  and  laid  aside 
his  hat.  Then  he  stood  upright,  and  slowly  rub- 
bing his  hands  together,  looked  at  Julia  with  the 
humorous  twinkle  in  his  eye  and  its  companion 
dimple  twitching  in  his  lean  cheek.  Then  he  be- 
gan to  feel  his  pockets,  passing  his  hands  down  his 
worn  cassock. 

"  Let  me  see,  I  had  a  love-letter.  .  .  .  Was 
it  from  Don  Carlos  ?  At  all  events,  I  have  lost 
it!" 

He  laughed,  made  a  perfunctory  sign  of  the 
cross,  and  gave  her  his  blessing.  Then,  his  face 
having  become  suddenly  grave,  as  if  by  machinery, 
at  the  sound  of  the  solemn  Latin  benediction,  he 
sat  down. 

Julia  looked  worn  and  eager.  Her  eyes  seemed 
to  search  his  face  for  news. 

«  Yes,  my  dear  child,"  he  said,  "  politics  are  all 
very  well  as  a  career,  but  without  a  distinct  profit 
they  are  worth  the  attention  of  few  men,  and 
never  the  attention  of  a  woman." 

He  looked  at  her  keenly,  and  she  turned  to  the 


u8  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

window,  which  was  open  to  admit  the  breath 
of  violets  and  other  flowers  of  the  spring.  She 
shrugged  her  shoulders  and  gave  a  sharp  sigh. 

"  See  here,  my  child,"  said  Padre  Concha, 
abruptly,  "  for  reasons  which  concern  no  one  I 
take  a  great  interest  in  your  happiness  ;  you  resem- 
ble some  one  whose  welfare  was  once  more  impor- 
tant to  me  than  my  own.  That  was  long  ago,  and 
I  now  consider  myself  first,  as  all  wise  men  should. 
I  am  your  friend,  Julia,  and  much  too  old  to  be  over- 
scrupulous. I  peep  and  pry  into  my  neighbour's 
affairs,  and  I  am  uneasy  about  you,  my  child." 

He  shook  his  head  and  drummed  upon  the  table 
with  his  dirty  fingers. 

"  Thank  you,"  answered  the  girl,  with  her  de- 
fiant little  laugh ;  "  but  I  can  manage  my  own 
affairs." 

The  priest  nodded  reflectively. 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  it  is  natural  that  you  should 
say  that.  One  of  the  chief  blessings  of  youth 
is  self-confidence.  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should 
shake  yours.  But,  you  see,  there  are  several  peo- 
ple who  happen  to  be  anxious  that  this  little  affair 
should  blow  over  and  be  forgotten.  The  alcalde 
is  a  mule,  we  know  that;  and  anything  that  serves 
to  magnify  himself  and  his  office  is  likely  to  be 
prolonged.  Do  not  play  into  his  hand.  On  the 
other  side,  there  are  some  who  wish  to  forget  this 
incident,  and  one  of  them  is  coming  to  see  you 
this   afternoon." 


A   TANGLED   WEB  119 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  girl,  indifferently. 

"  General  Vincente." 

Julia  changed  colour,  and  her  eyelids  flickered  for 
a  moment  as  she  looked  out  of  the  open  window. 

"  A  good  friend,"  continued  Concha,  "  but  .  .  ." 

He  finished  the  phrase  with  an  eloquent  little 
gesture  of  the  hand.  At  this  moment  they  both 
heard  the  sound  of  an  approaching  carriage. 

"  He  is  coming  now,"  said  Concha ;  "  he  is 
driving,  so  Estella  is  with  him." 

"  Estella  is,  of  course,  jealous." 

The  priest  looked  at  her  with  a  slow,  wise 
smile,  and  said   nothing. 

"  She  —  "  began  Julia,  and  then  closed  her  lips  — 
true  to  that  "  esprit  de  sexe "  which  has  ruled 
through  all  the  ages.  Then  Julia  Barenna  gave  a 
sharp  sigh  as  her  mind  reverted  from  Estella's 
affairs  to  her  own. 

Sitting  thus  in  silence,  the  two  occupants  of  the 
quiet  room  heard  the  approach  of  steps  and  the 
clink  of  spurs   in  the  corridor. 

"  It  is  the  reverendo  who  visits  the  senorita," 
they  heard  the  voice  of  the  sentinel  explain  depre- 
catingly. 

The  priest  rose  and  went  to  the  door,  which  he 
opened. 

"  Only  as  a  friend,"  he  said.   "  Come  in,  general." 

General  Vincente  entered  the  room,  followed 
by  Estella.  He  nodded  to  Concha  and  kissed  his 
niece  affectionately. 


120  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  Still  obdurate  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  semi-playful  tap 
on  her  shoulder.  "  Still  obdurate  ?  My  dear  Julia, 
in  peace  and  war  the  greatest  quality  in  the  strong 
is  mercy.  You  have  proved  yourself  strong  —  you 
have  worsted  that  unfortunate  alcalde  —  be  merci- 
ful to  him  now,  and  let  this  incident  finish." 

He  drew  forward  a  chair,  the  others  being 
seated,  and  laid  aside  his  gloves.  The  sword 
which  he  held  upright  between  his  knees,  with  his 
two  hands  resting  on  the  hilt,  looked  incongruously 
large  and  reached  the  level  of  his  eyes.  He  gave 
a  little  chuckling  laugh. 

"  I  saw  him  last  night  at  the  Cafe  Real.  The 
poor  man  had  the  air  of  a  funeral,  and  took  his 
wine  as  if  it  were  sour.  Ah  !  these  civilians,  they 
amuse  one ;  they  take  life  so  seriously." 

He  laughed  and  looked  round  on  those  assembled, 
as  if  inviting  them  to  join  him  in  a  gayer  and 
easier  view  of  existence.  The  padre's  furrowed 
face  answered  the  summons  in  a  sudden  smile,  but 
it  was  with  grave  eyes  that  he  looked  searchingly 
at  the  most  powerful  man  in  Andalusia,  for  Gen- 
eral Vincente's  word  was  law  south  of  the 
Tagus. 

The  two  men  sat  side  by  side  in  strong  contrast. 
Fate,  indeed,  seems  to  shake  men  together  in  a  bag 
and  cast  them  out  upon  the  world,  heedless  where 
they  may  fall ;  for  here  was  a  soldier  in  the  priest's 
habit,  and  one  carrying  a  sword  who  had  the  keen 
heart  and  sure  sympathy  for  joy  or  sorrow  that 


A   TANGLED   WEB  121 

should  ever  be  found  within  a  black  coat  if  the 
Master's  work   is  to  be  well  done. 

General  Vincente  smiled  at  Estella  with  sang 
froid  and  an  unruffled  good-nature,  while  the 
Padre  Concha,  whose  place  it  surely  was  to  take 
the  lead  in  such  woman's  work  as  this,  slowly 
rubbed  his  bony  hands  together  at  a  loss  and  in- 
competent to  meet  the  urgency  of  the  moment. 

"  Our  guest  left  us  yesterday  morning,"  said  the 
general,  "  and  of  course  the  alcalde  placed  no 
hindrance  on  his  departure." 

He  did  not  look  at  Julia,  who  drew  a  deep 
breath  and  glanced  at  Estella. 

"  I  do  not  know  if  Senor  Conyngham  left  any 
message  for  you  with  Estella,  to  me  he  said 
nothing,"  continued  Estella's  father;  and  that 
young  lady  shook  her  head. 

"  No,"  she  put  in  composedly. 

"  Then  it  remains  for  us  to  close  this  foolish 
incident,  my  dear  Julia,  and  for  me  to  remind  you, 
seeing  you  are  fatherless,  that  there  are  in  Spain 
many  adventurers  who  come  here  seeking  the  sport 
of  love  or  war,  who  will  ride  away  when  they 
have  had  their  fill  of  either." 

He  ceased  speaking  with  a  tolerant  laugh,  as  one 
who,  being  a  soldier  himself,  would  beg  indulgence 
for  the  failings  of  his  comrades,  examined  the  hilt 
of  his  sword,  and  then  looked  blandly  round  on 
three  faces  which  refused  to  class  the  absent  Eng- 
lishman in  this  category. 


122  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 


a 


It  remains,  my  dear  niece,  to  satisfy  the 
alcalde,  a  mere  glance  at  the  letter  .  .  .  sufficient 
to  satisfy  him  as  to  the  nature  of  its  contents." 

"  I  have  no  letter,"  said  Julia,  quietly,  with  her 
level  red  lips  set  firmly. 

"  Not  in  your  possession,  but  perhaps  concealed 
in  some  place  at  hand,  unless  it  is  destroyed." 

"  I  have  destroyed  no  letter,  I  have  concealed  no 
letter,  and  I  have  no  letter,"  said  the  girl,  quietly. 

Estella  moved  uneasily  in  her  chair.  Her  face 
was  colourless  and  her  eyes  shone.  She  watched 
her  cousin's  face  intently,  and  beneath  his  shaggy 
brows  the  old  priest's  eyes  went  from  one  fair 
countenance  to  the  other. 

"  Then,"  cried  the  general,  rising  to  his  feet 
with  an  air  of  relief,  "  you  have  but  to  assure  the 
alcalde  of  this,  and  the  whole  incident  is  termi- 
nated—  blown   over,  my    dear    Concha  —  blown 


over." 


He  tapped  the  priest  on  the  shoulder  with  great 
good-nature.  Indeed,  the  world  seemed  sunny 
enough  and  free  from  cares  when  General  Vincente 
had  to  deal  with  it. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  padre,  snuff-box  in  hand ; 
"  blown  over,  of  course." 

"  Then  I  may  send  the  alcalde  to  you,  Julia,  and 
you  will  tell  him  what  you  have  told  us.  He  can- 
not but  take  the  word  of  a  lady." 

"  Yes,  if  you  like,"  answered  Julia. 

The  general's  joy  knew  no  bounds. 


A   TANGLED   WEB  123 

"  That  is  well,"  he  cried.  "  I  knew  we  could 
rely  upon  your  good  sense.  Kiss  me,  Julia  ;  that 
is  well.  Come,  Estella,  we  must  not  keep  the 
horses  waiting." 

With  a  laugh  and  a  nod  he  went  toward  the 
door. 

"  Blown  over,  my  dear  Concha,"  he  said,  over 
his  shoulder. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  priest  walked  down  the 
avenue  of  walnut-trees  alone.  The  bell  was  ring- 
ing for  vespers,  but  the  padre  was  an  autocratic 
shepherd,  and  did  not  hurry  toward  his  flock. 
The  sun  had  set,  and  in  the  hollows  of  the  distant 
mountains  the  shades  of  night  already  lay  like  a 
blue  veil. 

The  priest  walked  on  and  presently  reached  the 
high  road. 

A  single  figure  was  upon  it,  the  figure  of  a  man 
sitting  in  the  shadow  of  an  ilex-tree,  half  a  mile  up 
the  road  toward  Bobadilla.  The  man  crouched 
low  against  a  heap  of  stones,  and  had  the  air  of  a 
wanderer.  His  face  was  concealed  in  the  folds  of 
his  cloak. 

"  Blown  over,"  muttered  the  padre,  as  he  turned 
his  back  upon  Bobadilla  and  went  on  toward  his 
church  —  "  blown  over,  of  course,  but  what  is  Con- 
cepcion  Vara  doing  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Ronda 
to-night  ?  " 


CHAPTER   XII 

ON    THE    TOLEDO    ROAD 

"Une  bonne  intention  est  une  echelle  trop  courte." 

Conyngham  made  his  way  without  difficulty  01 
incident  from  Xeres  to  Cordova,  riding  for  the 
most  part  in  front  of  the  clumsy  diligencia,  wherein 
he  had  bestowed  his  luggage.  The  road  was 
wearisome  enough,  and  the  last  stages,  through  the 
fertile  plains  bordering  the  Guadalquivir,  dusty  and 
monotonous. 

At  Cordova  the  traveller  found  comfortable 
quarters  in  an  old  inn  overlooking  the  river.  The 
ancient  city  was  then,  as  it  is  now,  a  great  military 
centre,  and  the  headquarters  of  the  picturesque 
corps  of  horse-tamers,  the  Remonta,  who  are  respon- 
sible for  the  mounting  of  a  cavalry  and  the  artillery 
of  Spain.  Conyngham  had,  at  the  suggestion  of 
General  Vincente,  made  such  small  changes  in  his 
costume  as  would  serve  to  allay  curiosity  and  pre- 
vent that  gossip  of  the  stable  and  kitchen  which 
may  follow  a  traveller  to  his  hurt  from  one  side  of 
a  continent  to  the  other. 

"  Wherever  you  may  go,  learn  your  way  in  and 
out   of  every  town,   and    you   will   thus   store  up 


ON   THE   TOLEDO   ROAD        125 

knowledge  most  useful  to  a  soldier,"  the  general 
had  said  in  his  easy  way. 

"  See  you,"  Concepcion  had  observed,  wagging 
his  head  over  a  cigarette,  "  to  go  about  the  world 
with  the  eyes  open  is  to  conquer  the  world." 

From  his  guide,  moreover,  whose  methods  were 
those  that  nature  teaches  to  men  who  live  their 
daily  lives  in  her  company,  Conyngham  learnt 
much  of  that  road-craft  which  had  raised  Concep- 
cion Vara  to  such  a  proud  eminence  among  the 
rascals  of  Andalusia.  Cordova  was  a  good  object 
upon  which  to  practise,  for  Roman  and  Goth, 
Moor  and  Christian  have  combined  to  make  its 
tortuous  streets  well-nigh  incomprehensible  to  the 
traveller's  mind. 

Here  Conyngham  wandered,  or  else  he  sat 
somnolently  on  a  seat  in  the  Paseo  del  Gran  Cap- 
itan,  in  the  shade  of  the  orange-trees,  awaiting 
the  arrival  of  Concepcion  Vara.  He  made  a  few 
acquaintances,  as  every  traveller  who  is  not  a  bear 
must  needs  do  in  a  country  where  politeness  and 
hospitality  and  a  grave  good  fellowship  are  the 
natural  habit  of  high  and  low  alike.  A  bull-fighter 
or  two,  who  beguiled  the  long  winter  months  when 
the  rings  are  closed  by  a  little  innocent  horse- 
dealing,  joined  him  quietly  in  the  streets,  and 
offered  him  a  horse,  as  between  gentlemen  of  un- 
doubted honour,  at  a  price  much  below  the  current 
value.  Or  it  was,  perhaps,  a  beggar  who  came  to 
him  on  the  old  yellow  marble  seat  under  the  orange- 


i26  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

trees,  and  chatted  affably  about  his  business  as 
being  bad  in  these  times  of  war.  Once,  indeed, 
it  was  a  white-haired  gentleman  who  spoke  in  Eng- 
lish, and  asked  some  very  natural  questions  as  to 
the  affairs  that  brought  an  Englishman  to  the  town 
of  Cordova.  This  sweet-spoken  old  man  explained 
that  strangers  would  do  well  to  avoid  all  questions 
of  politics  and  religion,  which  he  classed  together 
in  one  dangerous  whole.  Nevertheless,  Conyng- 
ham  thought  that  he  perceived  his  ancient  friend 
the  same  evening  hurrying  up  the  steps  of  the 
Jesuit  College  of  La  Campania. 

Two  days  elapsed  and  Concepcion  Vara  made 
neither  appearance  nor  sign.  On  the  second  even- 
ing Conyngham  decided  to  go  on  alone,  prosecuting 
his  journey  through  the  sparsely  populated  valley  of 
the  Alcadia  to  Ciudad  Real,  Toledo,  and  Madrid. 

"  You  will  ride,"  the  innkeeper  told  him,  "  from 
the  Guadalquivir  to  the  Guadiana,  and  if  there  is 
rain  you  may  be  a  month  upon  the  road." 

Conyngham  set  out  in  the  early  morning,  and  as 
he  threw  his  leg  across  the  saddle  the  sun  rose  over 
the  far  misty  hills  of  Ronda,  and  Concepcion  Vara 
awoke  from  his  night's  rest  under  the  wall  of  an 
olive  terrace  above  the  Bobadilla  road,  to  begin 
another  day  of  patient  waiting  and  watching  to  get 
speech  with  the  maid  or  the  mistress,  for  he  had 
already  inaugurated  what  he  lightly  called  "  an 
affair "  with  Julia's  flighty  attendant.  The  sun 
rose  also  over  the  plains  of  Xeres,  and  lighted  up 


ON   THE   TOLEDO    ROAD        127 

the  picturesque  form  of  Esteban  Larralde,  in  the 
saddle  this  hour  and  more,  having  learnt  that  Col- 
onel Monreal's  death  took  place  an  hour  before 
Conyngham's  arrival  in  the  town  of  Xeres  de  la 
Frontera.  The  letter,  therefore,  had  not  been 
delivered  to  Colonel  Monreal,  and  was  still  in 
Conyngham's   possession. 

Larralde  bestrode  a  shocking  steed,  and  had  but 
an  indifferent  seat  in  the  saddle,  but  the  dust  rose 
beneath  his  horse's  feet,  and  his  spurs  flashed  in  the 
sunlight  as  this  man  of  many  parts  hurried  on 
toward  Utera  and  Cordova. 

In  the  old  Moorish  palace  in  Ronda,  General 
Vincente,  summoned  to  a  great  council  of  war  at 
Madrid,  was  making  curt  military  preparations  for 
his  journey  and  the  conveyance  of  his  household 
to  the  capital.  Senora  Barenna  was  for  the  mo- 
ment forgetful  of  her  nerves  in  the  excitement  of 
despatching  servants  in  advance  to  Toledo,  where 
she  owned  a  summer  residence.  Julia  was  nervously 
anxious  to  be  on  the  road  again,  and  showed  by 
every  word  and  action  that  restlessness  of  spirit 
which  is  the  inheritance  of  hungry  hearts.  Estella, 
quiet  and  self-contained,  attended  to  the  details  of 
moving  a  vast  and  formal  household  with  a  certain 
eagerness,  which  in  no  way  resembled  Julia's  fever- 
ish haste.  Estella  seemed  to  be  one  of  those  happy 
people  who  know  what  they  want. 

Thus  Frederick  Conyngham,  riding  Northward 
alone,  seemed  to  be  but  a  pilot  to  all  those  persons, 


128  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

into  whose  lives  he  had  suddenly  stepped  as  from  a 
side  issue,  for  they  were  one  and  all  making  ready 
to  follow  him  to  the  colder  plains  of  Castile,  where 
existence  was  full  of  strife  and  ambition,  of  war 
and  those  inner  wheels  that  ever  jar  and  grind 
where  politicians  contend  together  for  the  mastery 
of  a  moment. 

As  he  rode  on,  Conynham  left  a  message  from 
time  to  time  for  his  self-appointed  servant.  At  the 
offices  of  the  diligencias  in  various  towns  on  the 
great  road  from  Cordova  to  Madrid  he  left  word 
for  Concepcion  Vara  to  follow,  should  the  spirit 
of  travel  be  still  upon  him,  knowing  that  at  these 
places,  where  travellers  were  ever  passing,  the  tittle- 
tattle  of  the  road  was  on  the  tongue  of  every  hostler 
and  stable  help.  And  truly  enough  there  followed 
one  who  made  careful  inquiries  as  to  the  move- 
ments of  the  Englishman,  and  heard  his  messages 
with  a  grim  smile  ;  but  this  was  not  Concepcion 
Vara. 

It  was  late  one  evening  when  Conyngham,  who 
had  quitted  Toledo  in  the  morning,  began  to  hunger 
for  the  sight  of  the  towers  and  steeples  of  Madrid. 
He  had  ridden  all  day  through  the  bare  country  of 
Cervantes,  where  to  this  day  Spain  rears  her  wit- 
tiest men  and  plainest  women.  The  sun  had  just 
set  behind  the  distant  hills  of  old  Castile,  and  from 
the  east,  over  Aranjuez,  where  the  great  river  cuts 
Spain  in  two  parts,  from  its  centre  to  the  sea,  a 
gray  cloud  —  a  very  shade  of  night  —  was  slowlv 


ON   THE    TOLEDO    ROAD        129 

rising.  The  aspect  of  the  brown  plains  was  dis- 
mal, and  on  the  horizon  the  rolling,  unbroken  land 
seemed  to  melt  away  into  eternity  and  infinite 
space. 

Conyngham  reined  in  and  looked  around  him. 
So  far  as  eye  could  reach  no  house  arose  to  testify 
to  the  presence  of  man.  No  labourer  toiled  home 
to  his  lonely  hut,  for  in  this  country  of  many  wars 
and  interminable  strife  it  has,  since  the  days  of 
Nebuchadnezzar,  been  the  custom  of  the  people  to 
congregate  in  villages  and  small  townships,  where 
a  common  danger  secured  some  protection  against 
a  lawless  foe.  The  road  rose  and  fell  in  a  straight 
line  across  the  tableland  without  tree  or  hedge, 
and  Madrid  seemed  to  belong  to  another  world, 
for  the  horizon,  which  was  distant  enough,  bore 
no  sign  of  cathedral  spire  or  castled  height. 

Conyngham  turned  in  his  saddle  to  look  back, 
and  there,  not  a  mile  away,  the  form  of  a  hurrying 
horseman  broke  the  bare  line  of  the  dusty  road. 
There  was  something  weird  and  disturbing  in  this 
figure,  a  suggestion  of  pursuit  in  every  line,  for 
this  was  not  Concepcion  Vara.  Conyngham 
would  have  known  him  at  once.  This  was  one 
wearing  a  better  coat ;  indeed,  Concepcion  pre- 
ferred to  face  life  and  the  chances  of  the  road  in 
shirt-sleeves. 

Conyngham  sat  in  his  saddle  awaiting  the  new- 
comer. To  meet  on  such  a  road  in  Spain  with- 
out pausing  to  exchange  a  salutation  would  be  a 

9 


3° 


IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 


gratuitous  insult ;  to  ride  in  solitude  within  hail  of 
another  traveller  were  to  excite  or  betray  the  deep- 
est distrust.  It  was  characteristic  of  Conyngham 
that  he  already  waved  his  hand  in  salutation,  and 
was  prepared  to  hail  the  newcomer  as  the  jolliest 
companion  in  the  world. 

Esteban  Larralde,  seeing  the  salutation,  gave  a 
short  laugh,  and  jerked  the  reins  of  his  tired  horse. 
He  himself  wore  a  weary  look,  as  if  the  flight  he 
had  in  hand  were  an  uphill  one.  He  had  long 
recognised  Conyngham ;  indeed,  the  chase  had 
been  one  of  little  excitement,  but  rather  an  exer- 
cise of  patience  and  dogged  perseverance.  He 
raised  his  hat  to  indicate  that  the  Englishman's 
gay  salutations  were  perceived,  and  pulled  the  wide 
brim  well  forward  again. 

"  He  will  change  his  attitude  when  it  becomes 
apparent  who  I  am,"  he  muttered. 

But  Conyngham's  first  word  would  appear  to 
suggest  that  Esteban  Larralde  was  a  much  less 
impressive  person  than  he  considered  himself. 

"  Why,  it 's  the  devout  lover ! "  he  cried. 
"  Senor  Larralde,  you  remember  me  —  Algeciras 
—  and  your  pink  love-letter.  Deuced  fishy  love- 
letter  that.  Nearly  got  me  into  a  devil  of  a  row, 
I  can  tell  you.      How  are  you  —  eh  ?  " 

And  the  Englishman  rode  forward  with  a  jolly 
laugh  and  his  hand  held  out.  Larralde  took  it 
without  enthusiasm.  It  was  rather  difficult  to 
pick  a  picturesque  quarrel  with  such  a  person  as 


ON   THE    TOLEDO    ROAD         131 

this.     Moreover,  the   true  conspirator    never    be- 
lieves in  another  man's  honesty. 

"  Who  would  have  expected  to  meet  you 
here  ?  "  went  on  Conyngham,  jovially. 

"  It  is  not  so  surprising  as  you  think." 

«  Ah  ! " 

There  was  no  mistaking  Larralde's  manner,  and 
the  Englishman's  gay,  blue  eyes  hardened  suddenly 
and  rather  surprisingly. 

"  No ;  I  have  followed  you.  I  want  that 
letter." 

"  Well,  as  it  happens,  Senor  Larralde,  I  have 
not  got  your  letter,  and  if  I  had  I  am  not  quite 
sure  that  I  would  give  it  to  you.  Your  conduct 
in  the  matter  has  not  been  over-nice ;  and  to  tell 
the  truth,  1  don't  think  much  of  a  man  who  gets 
strangers  and  women  to  do  his  dirty  work  for 
him." 

Larralde  stroked  his  moustache  with  a  half- 
furtive  air  of  contempt. 

"  I  should  have  given  the  confounded  letter  to 
the  alcalde  of  Ronda  if  it  had  not  been  that  a  lady 
would  have  suffered  for  it,  and  let  you  take  your 
chance,  Senor  Larralde." 

Larralde  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  You  would  not  have  given  it  to  the  alcalde  of 
Ronda,"  he  said  in  a  sneering  voice,  "  because  you 
want  it  yourself.  You  require  it  in  order  to  make 
your  peace  with  Estella  Vincente." 

"We  are   not  going   to  talk   of  Senorita  Yin- 


I32 


IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 


cente,"  said  Conyngham,  quietly.  "  You  say  you 
followed  me  because  you  wanted  that  letter.  It  is 
not  in  my  possession.  I  left  it  in  the  house  of 
Colonel  Monreal  at  Xeres.  If  you  are  going 
on  to  Madrid,  I  think  I  will  sit  down  here  and 
have  a  cigarette.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  you  pro- 
pose resting  here,  I  shall  proceed,  as  it  is  getting 
late." 

Conyngham  looked  at  his  companion  with  a 
nod  and  a  smile,  which  was  not  in  the  least 
friendly  and  at  the  same  time  quite  cheerful.  He 
seemed  to  recognise  the  necessity  of  quarrelling, 
but  proposed  to  do  so  as  light-heartedly  as  possible. 
They  were  both  on  horseback  in  the  middle  of  the 
road,  Larralde  a  few  paces  in  the  direction  of 
Madrid. 

Conyngham  indicated  the  road  with  an  inviting 
wave  of  the  hand. 

"  Will  you  go  on  ?  "  he  asked. 

Larralde  sat  looking  at  him  with  glittering  eyes 
and  said  nothing. 

"  Then  I  will  continue  my  journey,"  said  the 
Englishman,  touching  his  horse  lightly  with  the 
spur.  The  horse  moved  on  and  passed  within  a 
yard  of  the  other.  At  this  moment  Larralde  rose 
in  his  stirrups  and  flung  himself  on  one  side. 

Conyngham  gave  a  sharp  cry  of  pain  and  threw 
back  his  head.  Larralde  had  stabbed  him  in  the 
back. 

The  Englishman   swayed   in    the    saddle,  as  if 


ON    THE   TOLEDO    ROAD        133 

trying  to  balance  himself ;  his  legs  bent  back  from 
the  knee  in  the  sharpness  of  a  biting  pain.  The 
heavy  stirrups  swung  free.  Then,  slowly,  Conyng- 
ham  toppled  forward  and  rolled  out  of  the  saddle, 
falling  on  to  the  road  with  a  thud. 

Larralde  watched  him  with  a  white  face  and 
staring  eyes.  Then  he  looked  quickly  round  over 
the  darkening  landscape.  There  was  no  one  in 
sight.  This  was  one  of  the  waste  places  of  the 
world.  Larralde  seemed  to  remember  the  Eye 
that  seeth  even  there,  and  crossed  himself  as  he 
slipped  from  the  saddle  to  the  ground.  He  was 
shaking  all  over.  His  face  was  ashen,  for  it  is  a 
terrible  thing  to  kill  a  man  and  be  left  alone  with 
him. 

Conyngham's  eyes  were  closed.  There  was 
blood  on  his  lips.  With  hands  that  shook  like 
leaves  Esteban  Larralde  searched  the  Englishman, 
found  nothing,  and  cursed  his  ill-fortune.  Then 
he  stood  upright,  and  in  the  dim  light  his  face 
shone  as  if  he  had  dipped  it  in  water.  He  crept 
into  the  saddle,  and  rode  on  toward  Madrid. 

It  was  quite  dark  when  Conyngham  recovered 
consciousness.  In  turning  him  over  to  search  his 
pockets  Larralde  had  perhaps,  unwittingly,  saved 
his  life  by  placing  him  in  a  position  that  checked 
the  internal  hemorrhage.  What  served  to  bring 
back  the  Englishman's  wandering  senses  was  the 
rumbling  of  heavy  wheels  and  the  crack  of  a  great 
whip,  as  a  cart  laden  with  hay  and  drawn  by  six 


134  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

mules    approached    him     from    the     direction    of 
Toledo. 

The  driver  of  the  team  was  an  old  soldier,  as 
indeed  were  most  of  the  Castilians  at  this  time, 
and  knew  how  to  handle  wounded  men.  With 
great  care  and  a  multitude  of  oaths  he  lifted 
Conyngham  on  to  his  cart  and  proceeded  with  him 
to  Madrid. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

A    WISE    IGNORAMUS 

'«  God  help  me!     I  know  nothing —  can  but  pray." 

It  was  Father  Concha's  custom  to  attend,  at  his 
■church,  between  the  hours  of  nine  and  ten  in  the 
morning,  to  such  wants,  spiritual  or  temporal,  as 
individual  members  of  his  flock  chose  to  bring  to 
him. 

Thus  it  usually  happened  that  the  faithful  found 
the  old  priest  at  nine  o'clock  sunning  himself  at 
the  front  door  of  the  sacred  edifice,  smoking  a 
reflective  cigarette,  and  exchanging  the  time  of  day 
with  passers-by  or  such  as  had  leisure  to  pause  a 
moment. 

"  Whether  it  is  body  or  soul  that  is  in  trouble, 
come  to  me,"  he  would  say ;  "  for  the  body  I  can 
do  a  little  —  a  very  little.  I  have  twenty  pounds 
a  year,  and  it  is  not  always  paid  to  me,  but  I  some- 
times have  a  trifle  for  charity.  For  the  soul  I  can 
do  a  little  more." 

After  a  storm  of  wind  and  rain,  such  as  come 
in  the  winter  time,  it  was  no  uncommon  sight  to 
see  the  priest  sweeping  the  leaves  and  dust  from 


136  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

the  church  steps,  and  using  the  strongest  language 
at  the  bootmaker  over  the  way,  whose  business 
this  was  supposed  to  be. 

"  See,"  he  would  cry  to  some  passer-by  —  "  see, 
it  is  thus  that  our  sacristan  does  his  work.  It  is 
for  this  that  the  Holy  Church  pays  him  fifteen  — 
or  is  it  twenty  ?  —  pesetas  per  annum." 

And  the  bootmaker  would  growl  and  shake  his 
head  over  his  last,  for,  like  most  who  have  to  do 
with  leather,  he  was  a  man  of  small  humour. 

Here,  too,  mothers  would  bring  their  children 
—  little  girls  cowering  under  their  bright  handker- 
chiefs, the  mantillas  of  the  poor  —  and  speak  with 
the  padre  of  the  Confirmation  and  first  Commun- 
ion, which  had  lately  begun  to  hang  like  a  cloud 
over  the  child's  life.  Father  Concha  would  take 
the  child  upon  his  knee  as  he  sat  on  the  low  wall 
at  the  side  of  the  steps,  and  when  the  mother  had 
left  them  would  talk  quietly,  with  the  lines  of  his 
face  wonderfully  softened,  so  that  before  long  the 
little  girl  would  run  home  quite  happy  in  mind, 
and  no  longer  afraid  of  the  great  Unknown.  Here, 
in  the  springtime,  came  the  young  men  with 
thoughts  appropriate  to  the  season,  and  sheepish 
exceedingly,  for  they  knew  that  Father  Concha 
knew  all  about  them,  and  would  take  an  unfair 
advantage  of  his  opportunities,  refusing  probably 
to  perform  the  ceremony  until  he  was  satisfied  as 
to  the  ways  and  means  and  prudence  of  the  con- 
tracting parties,  which,  of  course,  he  had  no  right 


A    WISE    IGNORAMUS  137 

to  do.  Here  came  the  halt,  the  lame,  the  blind, 
the  poor,  and  also  the  rich.  Here  came  the  un- 
happy. They  came  naturally  and  often.  Here, 
so  the  bootmaker  tells,  came  one  morning  a  ruined 
man  who,  after  speaking  a  few  words  to  the  padre, 
produced  a  revolver  and  tried  to  shoot  himself,  and 
the  padre  fell  on  him  like  a  wild  beast.  And  they 
fought  together,  and  fell  and  rolled  down  the  steps 
together  into  the  road,  where  they  still  fought  till 
they  were  white  like  millers  with  dust.  Then  at 
last  the  padre  got  the  strong  man  under  him,  and 
took  the  revolver  away  and  threw  it  into  the  ditch. 
Then  he  fell  to  belabouring  the  would-be  suicide 
with  his  fists  until  the  big  man  cried  for  mercy 
and  received  it  not. 

"  You  saved  his  life,"  the  people  said. 

11  It  was  his  soul  that  I  was  caring  for,"  replied 
the  padre,  with  his  grim  smile. 

Concha  was  not  a  clever  man,  but  he  was  wise. 
Of  learning  he  had  but  little.  It  is  easy,  however, 
to  be  wise  without  being  learned.  It  is  easier  still 
to  be  learned  without  being  wise.  The  world  is 
full  of  such  persons  to-day,  when  education  is  too 
cheap.  Concha  steered  his  flock  as  best  he  could 
through  the  stormy  paths  of  insurrection  and  civil 
war.  He  ruled  with  a  rod  of  iron  whom  he  could, 
and  such  as  were  beyond  his  reach  he  influenced 
by  ridicule  and  a  patient  tolerance.  True  to  his 
cloth,  he  was  the  enemy  of  all  progress  and  dis- 
trusted every  innovation. 


j38  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  The  padre,"  said  the  barber,  who  was  a  talker 
and  a  radical,  "  would  have  the  world  stand  still." 

"  The  padre,"  replied  Concha,  who  was  ten- 
derly drying  his  chin  with  a  towel,  "  would  have 
all  barbers  attend  to  their  razors.  Many  are  so 
busy  shouting  c  Advance  !  '  that  they  have  no 
breath  to   ask  whither  they   are   going." 

On  the  whole,  perhaps  his  autocratic  rule  was 
a  beneficent  one,  and  contributed  to  the  happi- 
ness of  the  little  Northern  suburb  of  Ronda  over 
which  it  extended.  At  all  events,  he  was  a  watch- 
ful guardian  of  his  flock,  and  knew  every  face  in 
his  parish. 

It  thus  happened  one  morning  that  a  strange 
woman,  who  had  come  quietly  into  church  to  pray, 
attracted  his  attention  as  he  passed  out  after  matins. 
She  was  a  mere  peasant  and  ill-clad.  The  child 
seated  on  a  chair  by  her  side,  and  staring  with 
wondering  eyes  at  the  simple  altar  and  stained- 
glass  windows,  had  a  hungry  look. 

Concha  sat  down  on  the  low  wall  without  the 
doors,  and  awaited  the  exit  of  this  devotee,  who 
was  not  of  his  flock  ;  for  though,  as  he  often  said, 
the  good  God  had  intended  him  for  a  soldier,  his 
own  strong  will  and  simple  faith  had  in  time  pro- 
duced a  very  passable  priest,  who  with  a  grim  face 
went  about  doing  good. 

The  woman  presently  lifted  the  heavy  leathern 
curtain,  and  let  out  into  the  sunlight  a  breath  of 
cool,  incense-laden  air. 


A    WISE    IGNORAMUS  139 

She  curtsied  and  paused,  as  if  expecting  recog- 
nition. Concha  threw  away  his  cigarette  and 
raised  his  hand  to  his  hat.  He  had  not  lifted  it, 
except  to  ladies  of  the  highest  quality,  for  some 
years,  out  of  regard  to  symptoms  of  senile  decay 
which  had  manifested  themselves  at  the  junction 
of  the  brim  and  the  crown. 

"  Have  I  not  seen  your  face  before,  my  child  ?  " 
he  said. 

"  Yes,  reverendo ;  I  am  of  Ronda,  but  have 
been   living   in   Xeres." 

"  Ah !  Then  your  husband  is,  no  doubt,  a 
malcontent." 

The  woman  burst  into  tears,  burying  her  face 
in  her  hands,  and  leaning  against  the  wall  in  an 
attitude  that  was  still  girlish.  She  had  probably 
been   married  at  fifteen. 

"  No,  reverendo  ;  he  is  a  thief !  " 

Concha  merely  nodded  his  head.  He  never 
had  been  a  man  to  betray  much  pious  horror  when 
he  heard  of  ill-doing. 

"  The  two  are  almost  identical,"  he  said 
quietly.  "  One  does  what  the  other  fears  to  do. 
And  is  your  husband  in  prison  ?  Is  that  why  you 
have  come  back  ?  Ah,  you  women,  in  foolishness 
you  almost  equal  the  men  !  " 

"  No,  reverendo ;  1  am  come  back  because  he 
has  left  me.  Sebastian  has  run  away,  and  has 
stolen  all  his  master's  property.  It  was  the  Colonel 
Monreal,  of  Xeres ;  a  good  man,  reverendo,  but  a 
oolitician." 


i40  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

«  Ah  !  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  he  was  murdered,  as  your  reverence 
has  no  doubt  seen  in  the  newspapers.  A  week 
ago  it  was,  the  day  that  the  Englishman  came  with 
a  letter." 

"  What  Englishman  was  that  ?  "  inquired 
Father  Concha,  brushing  some  grains  of  snuff 
from  his  sleeve  —  "what  Englishman  was  that, 
my  child  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  know  !  His  name  is  unknown 
to  me,  but  I  could  tell  he  was  English  from  his 
manner  of  speaking.  The  colonel  had  an  English 
friend  who  spoke  so,  one  engaged  in  the  sherry  in 
Xeres." 

tf-  Ah,  yes  !  And  this  Englishman,  what  was  he 
like?" 

"  He  was  very  tall  and  straight,  like  a  soldier, 
and  had  a  moustache  quite  light  in  colour,  like 
straw." 

"  Ah,  yes  !  The  English  are  so.  And  he  left 
a  letter  ?  " 

"  Yes,  reverendo." 

"  A  rose-coloured  letter  .   .   .  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  woman,  looking  at  him  with 
surprise. 

"  And  tell  me  what  happened  afterward.  I 
may  perhaps  be  able  to  help  you,  my  child,  if  you 
tell  me  all  you  know." 

"  And  then,  reverendo,  the  police  brought  back 
the  colonel,  who  had  been  murdered  in  the  streets ; 


A   WISE    IGNORAMUS  141 

and  I  who  had  his  excellency's  dinner  on  the  table 
waiting  for  him  ?  " 

"And  .   .   ." 

"  And  Sebastian  ate  the  dinner,  reverendo." 

"  Your  husband  appears  to  be  a  man  of  action," 
said  Concha,  with  a  queer  smile.    "  And  then  .  .  ." 

"  Sebastian  sent  me  on  a  message  to  the  town, 
and  when  I  came  back  he  was  gone,  and  all  his 
excellency's  possessions  were  gone  —  his  papers 
and  valuables." 

"  Including  the  htter  which  the  Englishman  had 
left  for  the  colonel  ?  " 

"  Yes,  reverendo ;  Sebastian  knew  that  in  these 
times  the  papers  of  a  politician  may  perhaps  be 
sold  for  money." 

Concha  nodded  his  head  reflectively,  and  took  a 
pinch  of  snuff  with  infinite  deliberation  and  enjoy- 
ment. 

"  Yes  ;  assuredly  Sebastian  is  one  of  those  men 
who  get  on  in  the  world,  ...  up  to  a  certain 
point,  .  .  .  and  at  that  point  they  get  hanged. 
There  is  in  the  universe  a  particular  spot  for  each 
man,  where  we  all  think  we  should  like  to  go  if 
we  had  the  money.  For  me  it  is  Rome.  Doubt- 
less Sebastian  had  some  such  spot  of  which  he 
spoke  when  he  was  intoxicated.  Where  is  Sebas- 
tian's earthly  paradise,  think  you,  my  child  ?  ': 

"  He  always  spoke  of  Madrid,  reverendo." 

"  Yes,  .   .   .  yes,  I  can  imagine  he  would." 

"  And  I  have  no  money  to  follow  him,  ..." 


142  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

sobbed  the  woman,  breaking  into  tears  again. 
"  So  I  came  to  Ronda,  where  I  am  known,  to  seek 
it." 

"  Ah,  foolish  woman  !  "  exclaimed  the  priest, 
severely,  and  shaking  his  finger  at  her — "  foolish 
woman,  to  think  of  following  such  a  person. 
More  foolish  still  is  it  to  weep  for  a  worthless 
husband,  especially  in  public,  thus,  on  the  church 
steps,  where  all  may  see.  All  the  other  women 
will  be  so  pleased.  It  is  their  greatest  happiness 
to  think  that  their  neighbour's  husband  is  worse 
than  their  own.  Failure  is  the  royal  road  to  popu- 
larity. Dry  your  tears,  foolish  one,  before  you 
make  too   many  friends." 

The  woman  obeyed  him  mechanically,  with  a 
sort  of  dumb  helplessness. 

At  this  moment  a  horseman  clattered  past,  com- 
ing from  Ronda,  and  hastening  in  the  direction  of 
Bobadilla  or  perhaps  to  the  Casa  Barenna.  He 
wore  his  flat-brimmed  hat  well  forward  over  the 
eyes,  and  kept  his  gaze  fixed  upon  the  road  in 
front.  There  was  a  faint  suggestion  of  assumed 
absorption  in  his  attitude,  as  if  he  knew  that  the 
priest  was  usually  at  the  church  door  at  this  hour, 
and  had  no  desire  to  meet  his  eye.  It  was 
Larralde. 

A  few  minutes  later  Julia  Barenna,  who  was 
sitting  at  her  window  watching  and  waiting  —  her 
attitude  in  life — suddenly  rose  with  eyes  that 
gleamed    and    trembling    hands.     She    stood    and 


A   WISE    IGNORAMUS  143 

gazed  down  into  the  valley  below,  her  attention 
fixed  on  the  form  of  a  horseman  slowly  making 
his  way  through  the  olive  groves.  Then  breath- 
lessly she  turned  to  her  mirror. 

"  At  last !  "  she  whispered,  her  fingers  busy  with 
her  hair  and  mantilla,  a  thousand  thoughts  flying 
through  her  brain,  her  heart  throbbing  in  her 
breast.  In  a  moment  the  aspect  of  the  whole 
world  had  changed,  in  a  moment  Julia  herself  was 
another  woman.  Ten  years  seemed  to  have  rolled 
away  from  her  heart,  leaving  her  young  and  girlish 
and  hopeful  again.  She  gave  one  last  look  at  her- 
self and  hurried  to  the  door. 

It  was  yet  early  in  the  day,  and  the  air  beneath 
the  gnarled  and  ancient  olive-trees  was  cool  and 
fresh,  as  Julia  passed  under  them  to  meet  her 
lover.  He  threw  himself  out  of  the  saddle  when 
he  saw  her,  and  leaving  his  horse  loose  ran  to 
meet  her.  He  took  her  hands  and  raised  her 
fingers  to  his  lips,  with  a  certain  fervour  which 
was  sincere  enough,  for  Larralde  loved  Julia 
according  to  his  lights,  though  he  had  another 
mistress  —  Ambition  —  who  was  with  him  always 
and  filled  his  thoughts  sleeping  and  waking.  Julia, 
her  face  all  flushed,  her  eyes  aglow,  received  his 
gallant  greeting  with  a  sort  of  breathless  eagerness. 
She  knew  she  had  not  Larralde's  whole  heart,  and, 
womanlike,  was  not  content  with  half. 

"  I  have  not  seen  you  for  nearly  a  fortnight," 
she  said. 


144  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  Ah  !  "  answered  Larralde,  who  had  apparently 
not  kept  so  strict  an  account  of  the  days  —  "  ah, 
yes;  I  know.  But,  dearest,  I  have  been  burning 
the  high-roads.  I  have  been  almost  to  Madrid. 
Ah,  Julia,  why  did  you  make  such  a  mistake  ?  " 

"  What  mistake  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  sudden 
light  of  coquetry  in  her  eyes.  She  thought  he  was 
about  to  ask  her  why  she  loved  him.  In  former 
days  he  had  had  a  pretty  turn  for  such  questions. 

"  In  giving  the  letter  to  that  scoundrel  Conyng- 
ham.  He  has  betrayed  us,  and  Spain  is  no  longer 
safe  for  me." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  this  ?  "  asked  Julia,  alert. 
Had  she  possessed  Larralde's  whole  heart  she 
would  have  been  happy  enough  to  take  part  in  his 
pursuits. 

Larralde  gave  a  short  laugh  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"  Heaven  only  knows  where  the  letter  is  now  !  " 
he  answered. 

Julia  unfolded  a  note  and  handed  it  to  him. 
She  had  received  it  three  days  earlier  from  Con- 
cepcion  Vara,  and  it  was  from  Conyngham,  saying 
that  he  had  left  her  note  at  the  house  of  the 
colonel. 

"  The  colonel  was  dead  before  Conyngham  ar- 
rived at  Xeres,"  said  Larralde,  shortly ;  "  and  I  do 
not  believe  he  ever  left  the  letter.  I  suspected 
that  he  had  kept  it  as  a  little  recommendation  to 
the  Christinos,  under  whom  he  takes  service.     It 


A   WISE    IGNORAMUS  145 

would  have  been  the  most  natural  thing  to  do. 
But  I  have  satisfied  myself  that  the  letter  is  not  in 
his  possession." 

"  How  ?  "  asked  Julia,  with  a  sudden  fear  that 
blanched  her  face 

Larralde  smiled  in  rather  a  sickly  way,  and 
made  no  answer.  He  turned  and  looked  down 
the  avenue. 

"  I  see   Father  Concha   approaching,"  he   said 
"  Let  us  go  toward  the  house." 


-o 


CHAPTER   XIV 

A    WEIGHT    OF    EVIDENCE 

"The  woman  who  loves  you  is  at  once  your  detective 
and  accomplice." 

The  old  priest  was  walking  leisurely  up  the 
avenue  toward  the  Casa  Barenna,  when  the 
branches  of  a  dwarf  ilex  were  pushed  aside,  and 
there  came  to  him  from  their  leafy  concealment 
not  indeed  a  wood  nymph,  but  Senora  Barenna, 
with  her  finger  at  her  lips. 

"  Hush  !  "  she  said  ;  "  he  is  here." 

And  from  the  anxious  and  excited  expression  of 
her  face  it  became  apparent  that  madame's  nerves 
were  astir. 

"  Who  is  here  ?  " 

"  Why,  Esteban  Larralde,  of  course." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Concha,  patiently ;  "  but  need  we 
for  that  hide  behind  the  bushes  and  walk  on  the 
flower-borders  ?  Life  would  be  much  simpler, 
senora,  if  people  would  only  keep  to  the  footpath 
—  less  picturesque,  I  allow  you,  but  simpler. 
Shall  I   climb   up  a  tree  ? " 

The  lady  cast  her  eyes  up  to  heaven  and  heaved 
an  exaggerated  sigh. 


A    WEIGHT   OF   EVIDENCE       147 

u  Ah,  what  a  tragedy  life  is  !  "  she  whispered 
apparently  to  the  angels,  but  loud  enough  for  her 
companion  to  hear. 

"  Or  a  farce,"  said  Concha,  "  according  to  our 
reading  of  the  part.      Where  is  Senor  Larralde  ? ': 

"  Oh,  he  has  gone  to  the  fruit-garden  with 
Julia  !  There  is  a  high  wall  all  round,  and  one 
cannot  see.  She  may  be  murdered  by  this  time. 
I  knew  he  was  coming  from  the  manner  in  which 
she  ran  downstairs.      She  walks  at  other  times." 

Concha  smiled  rather  grimly. 

"  She  is  not  the  first  to  do  that,"  he  said ;  "  and 
many  have  stumbled  on  the  stairs  in  their  haste." 

"  Ah,  you  are  a  hard  man,  a  terrible  man  with 
no  heart !  And  I  have  no  one  to  sympathise  with 
me.  No  one  knows  what  I  suffer.  I  never  sleep 
at  night  —  not  a  wink  —  but  lie  and  think  of  my 
troubles.  Julia  will  not  obey  me.  I  have  warned 
her  not  to  rouse  me  to  anger,  and  she  laughs  at 
me.  She  persists  in  seeing  this  terrible  Esteban 
Larralde — a  Carlist,  if  you  please." 

"  We  are  all  as  God  made  us,"  said  Concha ; 
"  with  embellishments  added  by  the  Evil  One," 
he  added,  in  a  lower  tone. 

"  And  now  I  am  going  to  see  General  Vincente. 
I  shall  tell  him  to  send  soldiers.  This  is  intoler- 
able. I  am  not  obeyed  in  my  own  house  !  "  cried 
the  lady.  "  I  have  ordered  the  carriage  to  meet 
me  at  the  lower  gate.  I  dare  not  drive  away  from 
my  own  door.     Ah,  what  a  tragedy  !  " 


i48  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  I  will  go  with  you  since  you  are  determined  to 
go,"  said  Concha. 

"What!  and  leave  Julia  with  that  terrible 
man  ? " 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  priest  j  "  happiness  is  a 
dangerous  thing  to  meddle  with.  There  is  so 
little  of  it  in  the  world,  and  it  lasts  so  short  a 
time." 

Seiiora  Barenna  indicated  by  a  sigh  and  her  atti- 
tude that  she  had  had  no  experience  in  the  matter. 
As  a  simple  fact,  she  had  been  enabled  all  through 
her  life  to  satisfy  her  own  desires,  the  subtlest  form 
of  misfortune. 

uThen  you  would  have  Julia  marry  this  terrible 
man  ?  "  said  the  lady,  shielding  her  face  from  the 
sun  with  the  black  fan  which  she  always  carried. 

"  I  am  too  old  and  too  stupid  to  take  any  active 
part  in  my  neighbours'  affairs.  It  is  only  the 
young  and  inexperienced  who  are  competent  to  do 
that,"  answered  the  priest. 

"  But  you  say  you  are  fond  of  Julia." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  priest,  quietly. 

"  I  wonder  why  ?  " 

"  So  do  I,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  that  Seiiora 
Barenna  never  understood. 

"  You  are  always  kinder  to  her  than  you  are  to 
me,"  went  on  the  lady,  in  her  most  martyred  man- 
ner. "  Her  penances  are  always  lighter  than  mine. 
You  are  patient  with  her,  and  not  with  me.  And 
I  am  sure  I  have  never  done  you  any  injury." 


A   WEIGHT   OF    EVIDENCE      149 

The  old  padre  smiled.  Perhaps  he  was  think- 
ing of  those  illusions  which  she  had  during  the 
years  pulled  down  one  by  one,  for  the  greater 
peace  of  his  soul. 

"  There  is  the  carriage,"  he  said.  "  Let  us 
hasten  to  General  Vincente,  if  you  still  wish  to 
see  him." 

In  a  few  minutes  they  were  rattling  along  the 
road,  while  Esteban  Larralde  and  Julia  sat  side  by 
side  in  the  shade  of  the  great  wall  that  surrounded 
the  fruit-garden.  And  one  at  least  of  them  was 
gathering  that  quick  harvest  of  love,  which  is  like 
the  grass  of  the  field,  inasmuch  as  to-day  it  is  and 
to-morrow  is  not. 

General  Vincente  was  at  home.  He  was  one 
of  those  men  who  are  happy  in  finding  themselves 
where  they  are  wanted.  So  many  have,  on  the 
contrary,  the  misfortune  to  be  always  absent  when 
they  are  required,  and  the  world  soon  learns  to 
progress  without  them. 

"  That  man,  that  Larralde  is  in  Ronda,"  said 
Senora  Barenna,  bursting  in  on  the  general's  soli- 
tude. Vincente  smiled,  and  nevertheless  exchanged 
a  quick  glance  with  Concha,  who  confirmed  the 
news  by  a  movement  of  his  shaggy  eyebrows. 

"  Ah,  these  young  people  !  "  exclaimed  the 
general,  with  a  gay  little  laugh.  "  What  it  is  to 
be  young  and  in  love!  But  be  seated,  Inez  —  be 
seated.      Padre,  a  chair." 

"  What   do  you  propose  to  do  ? "  asked  Senora 


150  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

Barenna,  breathlessly,  for  she  was  stout  and  agitated, 
and  had  hurried  up  the  steps. 

"  When,  my  dear  Inez  —  when  ?  " 

"  But  now,  with  this  man  in  Ronda.  You  know 
quite  well  he  is  dangerous.  He  is  a  Carlist.  It 
was  only  the  other  day  that  you  received  an  anony- 
mous letter  saying  that  your  life  was  in  danger. 
Of  course,  it  was  from  the  Carlists,  and  Larralde 
has  something  to  do  with  it ;  or  that  Englishman, 
that  Senor  Conyngham  with  the  blue  eyes.  A 
man  with  blue  eyes  —  bah  !  of  course  he  is  not  to 
be  trusted." 

The  receiver  of  the  anonymous  warning  seemed 
to  be  amused. 

"  A  little  sweeping,  your  statements,  my  dear 
Inez.  Is  it  not  so  ?  Now,  a  lemonade,  the  after- 
noon is  warm." 

He  rose  and  rang  the  bell. 

"  My  nerves,"  whispered  the  senora  to  Concha  — 
"  my  nerves,  they  are  so  easily  upset." 

"  The  liqueurs,"  said  the  general  to  the  servant, 
with  perfect  gravity. 

"  You  must  take  steps  at  once,"  urged  Senora 
Barenna,  when  they  were  alone  again.  She  was 
endowed  with  a  magnificent  imagination,  without 
much  common  sense  to  hold  it  in  check,  and  at 
times  persuaded  herself  that  she  was  in  the  midst, 
and  perhaps  the  leader  of  a  dangerous  whirl  of 
political  events. 

I  will,  my  dear  Inez  —  I  will.     And  we  will 


cc 


A   WEIGHT   OF   EVIDENCE       151 

take  a  little  maraschino  to  collect  ourselves  — ■ 
eh  ?  " 

And  his  manner  quite  indicated  that  it  was  he 
and  not  Madame  Barenna  who  was  upset.  The 
lady  consented,  and  proceeded  to  what  she  took 
to  be  a  consultation,  which  in  reality  was  a  mono- 
logue. During  this  she  imparted  a  vast  deal  of 
information,  and  received  none  in  return,  which 
is  the  habit  of  voluble  people,  and  renders  them 
exceedingly  dangerous  to  themselves  and  useful 
to  others. 

Presently  the  two  men  conducted  her  to  her 
carriage  with  many  reassurances. 

"  Never  fear,  Inez  —  never  fear.  He  will  be 
gone  before  you  return,"  said  the  general,  with  a 
wave  of  the  hand.  He  had  consented  to  invite 
Julia  to  accompany  Estella  and  himself  to  Madrid, 
where  she  would  be  out  of  harm's  way. 

The  two  men  then  returned  to  the  general's 
study,  and  sat  down  in  that  silence  which  only 
grows  to  perfection  on  the  deep  sod  of  a  long- 
standing friendship. 

Vincente  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"I  have  had  a  letter  from  Madrid,"  he  said, 
looking  gravely  at  his  companion.  "  My  corre- 
spondent tells  me  that  Conyngham  has  not  yet 
presented  his  letter  of  introduction,  and  so  far  as 
is  ascertainable  has  not  arrived  in  the  capital. 
He  should  have  been  there  six  weeks  ago." 

The  padre  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  held  the 


i52  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

box  out  toward  his  companion,  who  waved  it  aside. 
The  general  was  too  dainty  a  man  to  indulge  in 
such  a  habit. 

"  He  possessed  no  money,  so  he  cannot  have 
fallen  a  victim  to  thieves,"  said  Concha. 

"  He  was  accompanied  by  a  good  guide,  and  an 
honest  enough  scoundrel,  so  he  cannot  have  lost 
his  way,"  observed  the  general,  with  a  queer 
expression  of  optimistic  distress  on  his  face. 

"  His  movements  are  not  always  above  suspi- 
cion. .  .  ."  The  priest  closed  his  snuff-box  and 
laboriously  replaced  it  in  the  pocket  of  his  cassock. 

"  That  letter  ...  it  was  a  queer  business  !  " 
and  the  general  laughed. 

"  Most  suspicious." 

There  was  a  silence,  during  which  Concha 
sneezed  twice,  with  enjoyment  and  more  noise  than 
is  usually  considered  necessary. 

"  And  your  letter  ?  "  he  said,  carefully  folding 
his  handkerchief  into  squares — "that  anonymous 
letter  of  warning  that  your  life  is  threatened,  is  that 
true  ?     It  is  the  talk  of  Ronda." 

"  Ah,  that !  "  laughed  Vincente.  "  Yes,  it  is 
true  enough.  It  is  not  the  first  time;  a  mere 
incident,  that  is  all." 

"  That  which  the  Senora  Barenna  said  just  now," 
observed  the  priest,  slowly,  "  about  our  English 
friend  may  be  true.  Sometimes  thoughtless  people 
arrive  at  a  conclusion  which  eludes  more  careful 
minds." 


A   WEIGHT    OF    EVIDENCE      153 

"  Yes,  my  dear  padre  —  yes." 

The  two  gray-headed  men  looked  at  each  other 
for  a  moment  in  silence. 

"  And  yet  you  trust  him,"  said  Concha. 

"  Despite  myself — despite  my  better  judgment, 
my  dear  friend." 

The  priest  rose  and  went  to  the  window  which 
overlooked  the  garden. 

"  Estella  is  in  the  garden  ? "  he  asked,  and 
received  no  answer. 

"  I  know  what  you  are  thinking,"  said  the  gen- 
eral. "  You  are  thinking  that  we  should  do  well 
to  tell  Estella  of  these  very  distressing  suspicions." 

"  For  you  it  does  not  matter,"  replied  the 
priest.  "  It  is  a  mere  incident,  as  you  say.  Your 
life  has  been  attempted  before,  and  you  killed  both 
the  men  with  your  own  hand,  if  I  recollect 
aright." 

Vincente  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  looked 
rather   embarrassed. 

"  But  a  woman,"  went  on  Concha,  "  cannot  af- 
ford to  trust  a  man  against  her  better  judgment." 

By  way  of  reply  the  general  rose  and  rang  the 
bell,  requesting  the  servant,  when  he  answered  the 
summons,  to  ask  the  senorita  to  spare  a  few  moments 
of  her  time. 

They  exchanged  no  further  words  until  Estella 
came,  hurrying  into  the  room  with  a  sudden  flush 
on  her  cheeks  and  something  in  her  dark  eyes  that 
made  her  father  say  at  once  : 


154  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  It  is  not  bad  news  that  we  have,  my  child." 

Estella  glanced  at  Concha  and  said  nothing. 
His  wise  old  eyes  rested  for  a  moment  on  her  face 
with  a  little  frown  of  anxiety. 

u  We  have  had  a  visit  from  the  Senora  Barenna," 
went  on  the  general,  "  and  she  is  anxious  that  we 
should  invite  Julia  to  go  to  Madrid  with  us.  It 
appears  that  Esteban  Larralde  is  still  attempting  to 
force  his  attentions  upon  Julia,  and  is  at  present  in 
Ronda.  You  will  not  object  to  her  coming  with 
us  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Estella,  without  much  interest. 

"  We  have  also  heard  rather  disquieting  news 
about  our  pleasant  friend,  Mr.  Conyngham,"  said 
the  general,  examining  the  tassel  of  his  sword ; 
"  and  I  think  it  is  only  right  to  tell  you  that  I  fear 
we  have  been  deceived  in  him." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
Vincente  spoke  again. 

"  In  these  times  one  is  almost  compelled  to 
suspect  one's  nearest  friends.  Much  harm  may  be 
done  by  being  over-trustful,  and  appearances  are  so 
consistently  against  Mr.  Conyngham,  that  it  would 
be  folly  to  ignore  them." 

The  general  waited  for  Estella  to  make  some 
comment,  and  after  a  pause  continued  : 

"  He  arrived  in  Ronda  under  singularly  unfortu- 
nate circumstances,  and  I  was  compelled  to  have 
his  travelling  companion  shot.  Then  occurred 
that    affair  of  the  letter,   which   has    never    been 


A   WEIGHT   OF   EVIDENCE       155 

explained.  Conyngham  would  have  to  show  me 
that  letter  before  I  should  be  quite  satisfied.  I 
obtained  for  him  an  introduction  to  General  Espar- 
tero,  in  Madrid.  That  was  six  or  seven  weeks 
ago.  The  introduction  has  not  been  presented, 
nor  has  Conyngham  been  seen  in  Madrid.  In 
England,  on  his  own  confession,  he  was  rather  a 
scamp  ;  why  not  the  same   in   Spain  ?  " 

The  general  spread  out  his  hands  in  his  favourite 
gesture  of  deprecation.  He  had  not  made  the 
world,  and  while  deeply  deploring  that  such  things 
could  be,  he  tacitly  admitted  that  the  human  race  had 
not  been,  creatively  speaking,  a  complete  success. 

Father  Concha  was  brushing  invisible  grains  of 
snuff  from  his  cassock  sleeve  and  watching  Estella 
with  anxious  eyes. 

"  I  only  tell  you,  my  dear,"  continued  the  gen- 
eral, "  so  that  we  may  know  how  to  treat  Mr. 
Conyngham  should  we  meet  him  in  Madrid.  I 
liked  him.  I  like  a  roving  man  —  and  many  Eng- 
lishmen are  thus  wanderers  —  but  appearances  are 
very  much  against  him." 

"Yes,"  admitted  Estella,  quietly  —  "yes." 

She  moved  toward  the  door,  and  there  turning 
looked  at  Concha. 

"  Does  the  padre  stay  to  dinner  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  my  child  ;  thank  you  —  no,  I  have  affairs 
at  home." 

Estella  went  out  of  the  room,  leaving  a  queer 
silence  behind  her. 


156  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

Presently  Concha  rose. 

"  I,  too,  am  going  to  Madrid,"  he  said.  "  It  is 
an  opportunity  to  press  my  claim  for  the  payment 
of  my  princely  stipend,  now  two  years  overdue." 

He  walked  home  on  the  shady  side  of  the  street, 
exchanging  many  salutations,  pausing  now  and 
then  to  speak  to  a  friend.  Indeed,  nearly  every 
passer-by  counted  himself  as  such. 

In  his  bare  room,  where  the  merest  necessities 
of  life  scarce  had  place,  he  sat  down  thoughtfully. 
The  furniture,  the  few  books,  his  own  apparel 
bespoke  the  direst  poverty.  This  was  one  who, 
in  his  simplicity,  read  his  Master's  words  quite 
literally,  and  went  about  his  work  with  neither 
purse  nor  scrip.  The  priest  presently  rose  and 
took  from  a  shelf  an  old  wooden  box  quaintly 
carved  and  studded  with  iron  nails.  A  search  in 
the  drawer  of  the  table  resulted  in  the  finding  of  a 
key,  and  the  final  discovery  of  a  small  parcel  at 
the  bottom  of  the  box,  which  contained  letters  and 
other  papers. 

"  The  rainy  day,  it  comes  at  last,"  said  the 
Padre  Concha,  counting  out  his  little  stock  of 
silver  with  the  care  that  only  comes  from  the 
knowledge  that  each  coin  represents  a  self-denial. 


CHAPTER   XV 

AN     ULTIMATUM 
'«  I  do  believe  yourself  against  yourself." 

Neither  Estella  nor  her  father  had  a  great  liking 
for  the  city  of  Madrid,  which,  indeed,  is  at  no  time 
desirable.  In  the  winter  it  is  cold,  in  the  summer 
exceedingly  hot,  and  during  the  changes  of  the 
seasons  of  a  treacherous  weather  difficult  to  sur- 
pass. The  social  atmosphere  was  no  more  genial 
at  the  period  with  which  we  deal,  for  it  blew  hot 
and  cold,  and  treachery  marked  every  change. 

Although  the  Queen  Regent  seemed  to  be  near- 
ing  at  last  a  successful  issue  to  her  long  and  event- 
ful struggle  against  Don  Carlos,  she  had  enemies 
nearer  home,  whose  movements  were  equally  dan- 
gerous to  the  throne  of  the  child-queen. 

"  I  cannot  afford  to  have  an  honest  soldier  so 
far  removed  from  the  capital,"  said  Christina,  who 
never  laid  aside  the  woman  while  playing  the 
Queen,  as  Vincente  kissed  her  hand  on  present- 
ing himself  at  court.  The  general  smiled  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"What  did  she  say — what  did  she  say?"  the 
intriguers    whispered  eagerly,  as  the    great  soldier 


158  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

made  his  way  toward  the  door,  with  the  haste  of 
one  who  was  no  courtier.  But  they  received  no 
answer. 

The  general  had  taken  a  suite  of  rooms  in  one 
of  the  hotels  on  the  Puerta  del  Sol,  and  hurried 
thither,  well  pleased  to  have  escaped  so  easily  from 
a  palace  where  self-seeking  —  that  grim  spirit  that 
haunts  the  abodes  of  royalty  —  had  long  reigned 
supreme. 

There  was,  the  servants  told  him,  a  visitor  in 
the  salon,  one  who  had  asked  for  the  general,  and 
on  learning  of  his  absence  had  insisted  on  being 
received  by  the  senorita. 

"  That  sounds  like  Conyngham,"  muttered  the 
general,  unbuckling  his  sword,  for  he  had  but  one 
weapon,  and  wore  it  in  the  presence  of  the  Queen 
and  her  enemies  alike. 

It  was,  indeed,  Conyngham,  whose  gay  laugh 
Vincente  heard  before  he  crossed  the  threshold  of 
Estella's  drawing-room.  The  Englishman  was  in 
uniform,  and  stood  with  his  back  turned  toward 
the  door  by  which  the  general  entered. 

"  It  is  Senor  Conyngham,"  said  Estella  at  once, 
in  a  quiet  voice,  "  who  has  been  wounded  and  six 
weeks  in  the  hospital." 

"  Yes,"  said  Conyngham ;  "  but  I  am  well 
again  now.  And  I  got  my  appointment  while  I 
was  still  in  the  Sisters'  care." 

He  laughed,  though  his  face  was  pale  and  thin, 
and  approached  the  general    with  extended  hand. 


AN    ULTIMATUM  159 

The  general  had  come  to  Madrid  with  the  inten- 
tion of  refusing  to  take  that  hand,  and  those  who 
knew  him  said  that  this  soldier  never  swerved  from 
his  purpose.  He  looked  for  a  moment  into 
Conyngham's  eyes,  and  then  shook  hands  with 
him.  He  did  not  disguise  the  hesitation,  which 
was  apparent  to  both  Estella  and  the  Englishman. 

"  How  were  you  wounded  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  was  stabbed  in  the  back  on  the  Toledo  road, 
ten  miles  from  here." 

"  Not  by  a  robber,  not  for  your  money." 

"  No  one  ever  hated  me  or  cared  for  me  on  that 
account,"  laughed  Conyngham. 

"  Then  who  did  it  ?  "  asked  General  Vincente, 
unbuttoning  his  gloves. 

Conyngham  hesitated. 

"A  man  with  whom  I  quarrelled  on  the  road,"  he 
made  reply  ;  but  it  was  no  answer  at  all,  as  hearers 
and  speaker  alike  recognised  in  a  flash  of  thought. 

"  He  left  me  for  dead  on  the  road,  but  a  carter 
picked  me  up  and  brought  me  to  Madrid,  to  the 
hospital  of  the  Hermanas,  where  I  have  been  ever 
since." 

There  were  flowers  on  the  table,  and  the  gen- 
eral stooped  over  them  with  a  delicate  appreciation 
of  their  scent.  He  was  a  great  lover  of  flowers, 
and,  indeed,  had  a  sense  of  the  beautiful  quite  out 
of  keeping  with  the  colour  of  his  coat. 

"  You  must  beware,"  he  said,  "  now  that  you 
wear    the   Queen's   uniform.     There   is  treachery 


160  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

abroad,  I  fear.  Even  I  have  had  an  anonymous 
letter  of  warning." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  who  wrote  it,"  ex- 
claimed Conyngham,  with  a  sudden  flash  of  anger 
in  his  eyes. 

The  general  laughed  pleasantly. 

"  So  should  I,"  he  said ;  "  merely  as  a  matter 
of  curiosity." 

And  he  turned  toward  the  door,  which  was 
opened  at  this  moment  by  a  servant. 

"  A  gentleman  wishing  to  see  me,  an  English- 
man as  it  would  appear,"  he  continued,  looking  at 
the  card. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Conyngham,  as  the  general 
moved  away,  "  I  am  instructed  to  inform  you  that 
I  am  attached  to  your  staff,  as  an  extra  aide-de- 
camp, during  your  stay  in  Madrid." 

The  general  nodded,  and  left  Estella  and 
Conyngham  alone  in  the  drawing-room.  Conyng- 
ham turned  on  Estella. 

"  So  that  I  have  a  right  to  be  near  you,"  he 
said,  "which  is  all  that  I  want." 

He  spoke  lightly  enough,  as  was  his  habit,  but 
Estella,  who  was  wise  in  those  matters  that  women 
know,  preferred  not  to  meet  his  eyes,  which  were 
grave  and  deep. 

"  Such  things  are  quickly  said,"  Estella  retorted. 

"  Yes ;  and  it  takes  a  long  time  to  prove  them." 

The  general  had  left  his  gloves  on  the  table. 
Estella  took  them  up  and  appeared  to  be  interested 
in  them. 


AN    ULTIMATUM  161 

"  Perhaps  a  lifetime,"  she  suggested. 

"  I  ask  no  less,  senorita." 

"Then  you  ask  much." 

u  And  I  give  all,  though  that  is  little  enough." 

They  spoke  slowly,  not  bandying  words,  but 
exchanging  thoughts.  Estella  was  grave.  Con- 
yngham's  attitude  was  that  which  he  ever  dis- 
played to  the  world  —  namely,  one  of  cheerful 
optimism,  as  behooved  a  strong  man  who  had  not 
yet  known  fear. 

"  Is  it  too  little,  senorita  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  was  sitting  at  the  table,  and  would  not  look 
up,  neither  would  she  answer  his  question.  He 
was  standing  quite  close  to  her,  upright  in  his 
bright  uniform,  his  hand  on  his  sword,  and  all  her 
attention  was  fixed  on  the  flowers  which  had  called 
forth  the  general's  outspoken  admiration.  She 
touched    them    with    fingers    hardly    lighter    than 

his. 

"Now  that  I  think  of  it,"  said  Conyngham, 
after  a  pause,  "what  I  give  is  nothing." 

Estella's  face  wore  a  queer  little  smile,  as  of  a 
deeper  knowledge. 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  continued  the  Englishman  ; 
"  for  I  have  nothing  to  give,  and  you  know  noth- 
ing of  me." 

"  Three  months  ago,"  answered  Estella,  "  we 
had  never  heard  of  you,  and  you  had  never  seen 
me,"   she  added,   with   a   little  laugh. 

"  I  have  seen  nothing  else  since,"  Conyngham 

1 1 


162  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

replied  deliberately,  "  for  I  have  gone  about  the 
world  a  blind  man." 

"  In  three  months  one  cannot  decide  matters 
that   affect  a  whole  lifetime,"    said   the   girl. 

"  This  matter  decided  itself  in  three  minutes,  so 
far  as  I  am  concerned,  senorita,  in  the  old  palace 
at  Ronda.  It  is  a  matter  that  time  is  powerless  to 
affect  one  way  or  the  other." 

"  With  some  people ;  but  you  are  hasty  and 
impetuous.  My  father  said  it  of  you,  and  he  is 
never  mistaken." 

"  Then  you  do  not  trust  me,  senorita." 

Estella  had  turned  away  her  face,  so  that  he 
could  only  see  her  mantilla  and  the  folds  of  her 
golden  hair  gleaming  through  the  black  lace.  She 
shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  It  is  not  due  to  yourself  nor  to  all  who  know 
you  in  Spain  if  I   do,"  she  said. 

"  All  who  know  me   .   .   .   ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  continued  —  "Father  Concha, 
Senora  Barrena,  my  father,  and  others  at  Ronda." 

"  Ah  !      And  what  leads  them  to  mistrust  me  ?  " 

"  Your  own  actions,"  replied  Estella. 

And  Conyngham  was  too  simple-minded,  too 
inexperienced  in  such  matters  to  understand  the 
ring  of  anxiety  in  her  voice. 

"  I  do  not  much  mind  what  the  rest  of  the 
world  thinks  of  me,"  he  said.  "  I  have  never 
owed  anything  to  the  world,  nor  asked  anything 
from  it.     They  are  welcome  to  think   what  they 


AN    ULTIMATUM  163 

like.  But  with  you  it  is  different.  Is  it  possible, 
sefiorita,  to   make  you  trust    me  ? " 

Estella  did  not  answer  at  once.  After  a  pause 
she  gave   an   indifferent  jerk  of  the   head. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said. 

"  If  it  is  possible,  I  will  do  it." 

"  It  is  quite  easy,"  she  answered,  raising  her 
head  and  looking  out  of  the  window,  with  an  air 
that  seemed  to  indicate  that  her  interests  lay  with- 
out and  not  in  this  room  at  all. 

"  How  can  I  do  it  ?  " 

She  gave  a  short,  hard  laugh,  which  to  expe- 
rienced ears  would  have  betrayed  her  instantly. 

"  By  showing  me  the  letter  you  wrote  to  Julia 
Barenna,"   she  said. 

"  I  cannot  do  that." 

"  No  ? "  she  said  significantly.  A  woman 
fighting  for  her  own  happiness  is  no  sparing  ad- 
versary. 

"  Will  nothing  else  than  the  sight  of  that  letter 
satisfy  you,  sefiorita  ?  " 

Her  profile  was  turned  toward  him,  delicate  and 
proud,  with  the  perfect  chiselling  of  outline  that 
only  comes  with  a  long  descent  and  bespeaks  the 
blood  of  a  line  of  gentle  ancestors,  for  Estella 
Vincente  had  in  her  veins  blood  that  was  counted 
noble  in  Spain,  the  land  of  a  bygone  glory. 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered ;  "  though  the  ques- 
tion of  my  being  satisfied  is  hardly  of  importance. 
You  asked  me  to  trust  you,  and  you  make  it  diffi- 


1 64  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

cult  by  your  actions.  In  return  I  ask  a  proof,  that 
is  all."  ' 

"  Do  you  want  to  trust  me  ?  " 

He  had  come  a  little  closer  to  her,  and  was 
grave  enough  now. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  that  ?  "  she  inquired  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Do  you  want  to  trust  me  ?  "  he  asked,  and  it 
is  to  be  supposed  that  he  was  able  to  detect  an 
infinitesimal  acquiescent  movement  of  her  head. 

"  Then  if  that  letter  is  in  existence  you  shall 
have  it,"  he  said.  "  You  say  that  my  actions 
have  borne  evidence  against  me.  I  shall  trust  to 
action  and  not  to  words  to  refute  that  evidence. 
But  you  must  give  me  time.     Will  you  do  that  ?  " 

"  You  always  ask  something." 

u  Yes,  senorita,  from  you,  but  from  no  one  else 
in  the  world." 

He  gave  a  sudden  laugh  and  walked  to  the  win- 
dow where  he  stood  looking  at  her. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  be  asking  all  my 
life  from  you.  Perhaps  that  is  why  we  were 
created,  senorita  —  I  to  ask,  you  to  give;  perhaps 
that  is  happiness,  Estella." 

She  raised  her  eyes,  but  did  not  meet  his,  look- 
ing past  him  through  the  open  window.  The 
hotel  was  situated  at  the  lower  end  of  the  Puerta 
del  Sol,  the  quiet  end  and  farthest  removed  from 
the  hum  of  the  market  and  the  busy  sounds  of 
traffic.     These  only  came  in  the  form  of  a  distant 


AN    ULTIMATUM  165 

hum,  like  the  continuous  roar  of  surf  upon  an 
unseen  shore.  Below  the  windows  a  passing 
water-seller  plied  his  trade,  and  his  monotonous 
cry  of  "  Agua  —  a  —  a  !  Agua  —  a  —  a  !  "  rose 
like  a  wail,  like  the  voice  of  one  crying  in  that 
human  wilderness  where  solitude  reigns  as  surely 
as  in  the  desert. 

For  a  moment  Estella  glanced  at  Conyngham 
gravely,  and  his  eyes  were  no  less  serious.  They 
were  not  the  first,  but  only  two  out  of  many  mil- 
lions, to  wonder  what  happiness  is,  and  where  it 
hides  in  this  busy  world. 

They  had  not  spoken  or  moved,  when  the  door 
was  again  opened  by  a  servant,  who  bowed  toward 
Conyngham,  and  then  stood  aside  to  allow  in- 
gress to  one  who  followed  on  his  heels.  This  was 
a  tall  man,  white-haired  and  white  of  face.  In- 
deed, his  cheeks  had  the  dead  pallor  of  paper,  and 
seemed  to  be  drawn  over  the  cheek-bones  at  such 
tension  as  gave  to  the  skin  a  polish  like  that  of 
fine  marble.  One  sees  many  such  faces  in  Lon- 
don streets,  and  they  usually  indicate  suffering, 
either  mental  or  physical. 

The  stranger  came  forward  with  a  perfect  lack 
of  embarrassment,  which  proved  him  to  be  a  man 
of  the  world.  His  bow  to  Estella  clearly  indi- 
cated that  his  business  lay  with  Conyngham.  He 
was  the  incarnation  of  the  Continental  ideal  of 
the  polished,  cold  Englishman,  and  had  the  air  of 
a  diplomat,  such  as  this  country  sends  to  foreign 


166  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

courts  to  praise  or  blame,  to  declare  friendship  or 
war  with  the  same  calm  suavity  and  imperturbable 
politeness. 

"  I  come  from  General  Vincente,"  he  said  to 
Conyngham,  "  who  will  follow  in  a  moment,  when 
he  has  despatched  some  business  which  detains 
him.  I  have  a  letter  to  the  general,  and  am,  in 
fact,  in  need  of  his  assistance." 

He  broke  off,  turning  to  Estella,  who  was  mov- 
ing toward  the  door. 

"  I  was  especially  instructed,"  he  said  quickly  to 
her,  "  to  ask  you  not  to  leave  us.  You  were,  I 
believe,  at  school  with  my  nieces  in  England,  and 
when  my  business,  which  is  of  the  briefest,  is  con- 
cluded, I  have  messages  to  deliver  to  you  from 
Mary  and  Amy   Main  waring." 

Estella  smiled  a  little  and  resumed  her  seat. 

Then  the  stranger  turned  to  Conyngham. 

"  The  general  told  me,"  he  went  on,  in  his 
cold  voice,  without  a  gleam  of  geniality  or  even 
of  life  in  his  eyes,  "  that  if  I  followed  the  ser- 
vant to  the  drawing-room  I  should  find  here  an 
English  aide-de-camp,  who  is  fully  in  his  confi- 
dence, and  upon  whose  good-nature  and  assist- 
ance I  could  rely." 

"  I  am  for  the  time  General  Vincente's  aide- 
de-camp,  and  I  am  an  Englishman,"  answered 
Conyngham. 

The  stranger  bowed. 

"  I   did    not    explain   my    business    to   General 


AN   ULTIMATUM  167 

Vincente,"  said  he,  "  who  asked  me  to  wait  un- 
til he  came,  and  then  tell  the  story  to  you  both 
at  one  time.  In  the  mean  time  I  was  to  intro- 
duce myself  to  you." 

Conyngham  waited  in  silence. 

"  My  name  is  Sir  John  Pleydell,"  said  the 
stranger,  quietly. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

IN    HONOUR 

"  He  makes  no  friend  who  never  made  a  foe." 

Conyngham  remembered  the  name  of  Pleydell 
well  enough,  and  glanced  sharply  at  Estella,  recol- 
lecting that  the  general  received  the  Times  from 
London.  Before  he  had  time  to  make  an  answer 
—  and,  indeed,  he  had  none  ready — the  general 
came  into  the  room. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Vincente,  in  his  emphatically  socia- 
ble manner,  "  I  see  you  know  each  other  already, 
so  an  introduction  is  superfluous.  And  now  we 
will  have  Sir  John's  story.  Be  seated,  my  dear 
sir.  But  first  a  little  refreshment.  It  is  a  dusty 
day  —  a  lemonade  ?  " 

Sir  John  declined,  his  manner  strikingly  cold 
and  reserved  beside  the  genial  empressement  of  Gen- 
eral Vincente.  In  truth,  the  two  men  seemed  to 
belong  to  opposite  poles,  the  one  of  cold  and  the 
other  of  heat.  Sir  John  had  the  chill  air  of  one 
who  had  mixed  among  his  fellow-men  only  to  see 
their  evil  side.  For  this  world  is  a  cold  place  to 
those  that  look  on  it  with  a  chilling  glance.  Gen- 
eral Vincente,  on  the  other  hand,  whose  life  had 


IN    HONOUR  169 

been  passed  in  strife  and  warfare,  seemed  ready  to 
welcome  all  comers  as  friends,  and  hold  out  the 
hand  of  good-fellowship  to  rich  and  poor   alike. 

Conyngham  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  queer 
smile.  Here  was  a  quandary  requiring  a  quicker 
brain  than  his.  He  did  not  even  attempt  to  seek 
a  solution  to  his  difficulties,  and  the  only  thought 
in  his  mind  was  a  characteristic  determination  to 
face  them  courageously.  He  drew  forward  a  chair 
for  Sir  John  Pleydell,  his  heart  stirred  with  that 
sense  of  exhilaration  which  comes  to  some  in 
moments  of  peril. 

"  I  will  not  detain  you  long,"  began  the  new- 
comer, with  an  air  slightly  suggestive  of  the  law 
court,  "  but  there  are  certain  details  which,  I  am 
afraid,  I  must  inflict  upon  you  in  order  that  you 
may  fully  understand  my  actions." 

The  remark  was  addressed  to  General  Vincente, 
although  the  speaker  appeared  to  be  demanding 
Conyngham's  attention  in  the  first  instance.  The 
learned  gentlemen  of  the  Bar  thus  often  address 
the  jury  through  the  ears  of  the  judge. 

General  Vincente  had  seated  himself  at  the 
table,  and  was  drawing  his  scented  pocket-hand- 
kerchief across  his  moustache  reflectively.  He 
was  not,  it  was  obvious,  keenly  interested,  although 
desirous  of  showing  every  politeness  to  the  stran- 
ger. In  truth,  such  Englishmen  as  brought  their 
affairs  to  Spain  at  this  time  were  not,  as  a  rule, 
highly  desirable  persons  or  a  credit  to  their  coun- 


170  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

try.  Estella  was  sitting  near  the  window,  rather 
behind  her  father,  and  Conyngham  stood  by  the 
fireplace,  facing  them  all. 

"  You  perhaps  know  something  of  our  English 
politics,"  continued  Sir  John  Pleydell,  and,  the 
general  making  a  little  gesture  indicative  of  a  lim- 
ited but  sufficient  knowledge,  went  on  to  say,  "  of 
the  Chartists  more   particularly." 

The  general  bowed.  Estella  glanced  at  Con- 
yngham, who  was  smiling. 

"  One  cannot  call  them  a  party,  as  I  have  heard 
them  designated  in  Spain,"  said  Sir  John,  paren- 
thetically. "  They  are  quite  unworthy  of  so  dis- 
tinguished a  name.  These  Chartists  consist  of  the 
most  ignorant  people  in  the  land  —  the  rabble,  in 
fact  —  headed  by  a  few  scheming  malcontents, 
professional  agitators,  who  are  not  above  picking 
the  pockets  of  the  poor.  Many  capitalists  and 
land-owners  have  suffered  wrong  and  loss  at  the 
hands  of  these  disturbers  of  the  peace  ;  none  .  .  ." 
he  paused  and  gave  a  sharp  sigh,  which  seemed  to 
catch  him  unawares,  and  almost  suggested  that  the 
man,  after  all,  had  or  had  at  one  time  possessed  a 
heart  —  "none  more  severely  than  myself,"  he 
concluded. 

The  general's  face  instantly  expressed  the  ut- 
most concern. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  murmured. 

"  For  many  years,"  continued  Sir  John,  hur- 
riedly, as  if  resenting  anything  like  sympathy  —  as 


IN    HONOUR  171 

all  good  Britons  do  —  "  the  authorities  acted  in  an 
irresolute  and  foolish  manner,  not  daring  to  put 
down  the  disturbance  with  a  firm  hand.  At 
length,  however,  a  riot  of  a  more  serious  charac- 
ter at  a  town  in  Wales  necessitated  the  interfer- 
ence of  the  military.  The  ringleaders  were 
arrested,  and  for  some  time  the  authorities  were  in 
considerable  doubt  as  to  what  to  do  with  them.  I 
interested  myself  strongly  in  the  matter,  having 
practised  the  law  in  my  younger  days,  and  was 
finally  enabled  to  see  my  object  carried  out. 
These  men  were  arraigned  not  as  mere  brawlers 
and  rioters,  but  under  a  charge  of  high  treason  — 
a  much  more  serious  affair  for  them." 

He  broke  off  with  a  harsh  laugh,  which  was 
only  a  matter  of  the  voice,  for  his  marble  face 
remained  unchanged  and  probably  had  not  at 
any   time    the    power    of   expressing    mirth. 

"  The  ringleaders  of  the  Newport  riots  were 
sentenced  to  long  terms  of  imprisonment,  which 
served  my  purpose  excellently." 

Sir  John  Pleydell  spoke  with  that  cynical  frank- 
ness which  seems  often  to  follow  upon  a  few  years 
devoted  to  practice  at  the  Common  Law  Bar, 
where  men,  indeed,  spend  their  days  in  dissecting 
the  mental  diseases  of  their  fellow-creatures,  and 
learn  to  conclude  that  a  pure  and  healthy  mind  is 
possessed  by  none.  He  moved  slightly  in  his 
chair,  and  seemed  to  indicate  that  he  had  made  his 
first  point. 


i72  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  I  hope,"  he  said,  addressing  Conyngham  di- 
rectly, "  that  I  am  not  fatiguing  you." 

"  Not  at  all,"  returned  the  younger  Englishman, 
coolly  ;  "  I  am  much  interested." 

The  general  was  studying  the  texture  of  his 
pocket-handkerchief.  Estella's  face  had  grown 
cold  and  set.  Her  eyes  from  time  to  time  turned 
toward  Conyngham.  Sir  John  Pleydell  was  not 
creating  a  good  impression. 

"  I  will  now  come  to  the  more  personal  part  of 
my  story,"  went  on  that  gifted  speaker,  "  and  pro- 
ceed to  explain  my  reason  for  inflicting  it  upon 
you." 

He  still  spoke  directly  to  Conyngham,  who 
bowed  his  head  in  silence,  with  the  queer  smile 
still  hovering  on  his  lips.  Estella  saw  it  and  drew 
a  sharp  breath.  In  the  course  of  her  short  life, 
which  had  almost  been  spent  in  the  midst  of  war- 
fare, she  had  seen  men  in  danger  more  than  once, 
and  perhaps  recognised  that  smile. 

"  I  particularly  beg  your  attention,"  explained 
Sir  John  to  Conyngham,  "  because  I  understand 
from  General  Vincente  that  you  are  in  reality 
attached  to  the  staff  of  General  Espartero,  and  it  is 
to  him  that  I  look  for  help." 

Sir  John  paused  again.  He  had  established 
another  point.  One  almost  expected  to  see  him 
raise  his  hand  to  his  shoulder  to  throw  back  the 
silken  gown. 

"  Some  months  ago,"  he  went  on,  "  these  Chart- 


IN    HONOUR  173 

ists  attacked  my  house  in  the   North  of  England, 
and  killed  my  son." 

There  was  a  short  silence,  and  the  general  mut- 
tered a  short  and  polite  Spanish  oath  under  his 
breath.  But  somehow  the  speaker  had  failed  to 
make  that  point,  and  he  hurried  on  : 

"  It  was  not,  technically  speaking,  a  murder. 
My  boy,  who  had  a  fine  spirit,  attacked  the  rioters, 
and  a  clever  counsel  might  have  got  a  verdict  for 
the  scoundrel  who  actually  struck  the  blow.  I 
knew  this,  and  awaited  events.  I  did  not  even 
take  steps  against  the  man  who  killed  my  son, 
...  an  only  son  and  child.  It  was  not  from  a 
legal  point  of  view  worth  while." 

He  laughed  his  unpleasant  laugh  again,  and  pre- 
sently went  on  : 

"  Fortune,  however,  favoured  me.  The  trouble 
got  worse,  and  the  Newport  riots  at  last  aroused 
the  government.  The  sentence  upon  the  ring- 
leaders gave  me  my  opportunity.  It  was  worth 
while  to  hunt  down  the  murderer  of  my  son  when 
I  could  ensure  him  sixteen  or  twenty  years  of  penal 
servitude." 

"  Quite,"  said  the  general  —  "  quite."  And  he 
smiled.  He  seemed  to  fail  to  realise  that  Sir  John 
Pleydell  was  in  deadly  earnest,  and  really  harboured 
the  implacable  spirit  of  revenge  with  which  he 
cynically  credited  himself. 

"  I  traced  my  man  to  Gibraltar,  and  from  thence 
he  appears   to  have   come   North,"    continued  Sir 


r74  IN    KEDAR'S    TENTS 

John  Pleydell.  "  He  has  probably  taken  service 
under  Espartero.  Many  of  our  English  outlaws 
wear  the  Spanish  Queen's  uniform.  He  is,  of 
course,  bearing  an  assumed  name,  but  surely  it 
would  be  possible  to  trace  him." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  Conyngham,  "  I  think 
you  will  be  able  to  find  him." 

Sir  John's  eyes  had  for  a  moment  a  gleam  of  life 
in  them. 

"  Ah  !  "  he  said,  "  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say 
that;  for  that  is  my  object  in  coming  to  this  coun- 
try, and  although  I  have  during  the  course  of  my 
life  had  many  objects  of  ambition  or  desire,  none 
of  them  has  so  entirely  absorbed  my  attention  as 
this  one.  Half  a  dozen  men  have  gone  to  penal 
servitude  in  order  that  I  might  succeed  in  my 
purpose." 

There  was  a  cold  deliberation  in  this  statement, 
which  was  more  cruel  than  cynicism,  for  it  was 
sincere.  Conyngham  looked  at  Estella.  Her  face 
had  lost  all  colour,  her  eyes  were  burning,  not  with 
the  dull  light  of  fear,  for  the  blood  that  ran  in  her 
veins  had  no  taint  of  that  in  it,  but  with  anger. 
She  knew  whom  it  was  that  Sir  John  Pleydell 
sought.  She  looked  at  Conyngham,  and  his  smile 
of  cool  intrepidity  made  her  heart  leap  within  her 
breast.  This  lover  of  hers  was,  at  all  events,  a 
brave  man,  and  that  which  through  all  the  ages 
reaches  the  human  heart  most  surely  is  courage. 
The  coward  has  no  friends. 


IN    HONOUR  175 

Sir  John  Pleydell  had  paused,  and  was  seeking 
something  in  his  pocket.  General  Vincente  pre- 
served his  attitude  of  slightly  bored  attention. 

"  I  have  here,"  went  on  the  baronet,  "  a  list  of 
the  English  officers  serving  in  the  army  of  Gen- 
eral Espartero  at  the  time  of  my  quitting  England. 
Perhaps  you  will,  at  your  leisure,  be  kind  enough 
to  cast  your  eye  over  it,  and  make  a  note  of  such 
men  as  are  personally  unknown  to  you,  and  may, 
therefore,  be  bearing  assumed  names." 

Conyngham  took  the  paper,  and  holding  it  in  his 
hand  spoke  without  moving  from  the  mantel-piece, 
against  which  he  leant. 

"  You  have  not  yet  made  quite  clear  your  object 
in  coming  to  Spain,"  he  said.  "  There  exists 
between  Spain  and  England  no  extradition  treaty, 
and  even  if  such  were  to  come  in  force,  I  believe 
that  persons  guilty  of  political  offences  would  be 
exempt  from  its  action.  You  propose  to  arraign 
this  man  for  high  treason,  a  political  offence 
according  to  the   law  of  many  countries." 

"  You  speak  like  a  lawyer,"  said  Sir  John,  with 
a  laugh. 

"  You  have  just  informed  us,"  retorted  Conyng- 
ham, "  that  all  the  English  in  the  Spanish  service 
are  miscreants.  None  know  the  law  so  intimately 
as  those  who  have  broken  it." 

"  Ah  !  "  laughed  Sir  John  again,  with  a  face  of 
stone  ;  "  there  are  exceptions  to  all  rules,  and  you, 
young  sir,  are  an  exception  to  that  which  I  laid 


176  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

down  as  regards  our  countrymen  in  Spain,  unless 
my  experience  of  faces  and  knowledge  of  men  play 
me  very  false.  But  your  contention  is  a  just  one. 
I  am  not  in  a  position  to  seek  the  aid  of  the  Spanish 
authorities  in  this  matter.  I  am  fully  aware  of  the 
fact.  You  surely  did  not  expect  me  to  come  to 
Spain  with  such  a  weak  case  as  that  ? " 

"  No,"  answered  Conyngham,  slowly,  "  I  did 
not." 

Sir  John  Pleydell  raised  his  eyes  and  looked  at 
his  fellow-countryman  with  a  dawning  interest. 
The  general  also  looked  up  from  one  face  to  the 
other.  The  atmosphere  of  the  room  seemed  to 
have  undergone  a  sudden  change,  and  to  be  domi- 
nated by  the  personality  of  the  two  Englishmen. 
The  one  will,  strong  on  the  surface,  accustomed 
to  assert  itself  and  dominate,  seemed  suddenly  to 
have  found  itself  faced  by  another  as  strong,  and 
yet  hidden  behind  an  easy  smile  and  indolent 
manner. 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  he  went  on  in  his  cold 
voice.  "  I  have  a  better  case  than  that,  and  one 
eminently  suited  to  a  country  such  as  Spain,  where 
a  long  war  has  reduced  law  and  order  to  a 
somewhat  low  ebb.  I  at  first  thought  of  com- 
ing here  to  await  my  chance  of  shooting  this 
man  —  his  name,  by  the  way,  is  Frederick  Con- 
yngham —  but  circumstances  placed  a  better 
vengeance  within  my  grasp,  one  that  will  last 
longer." 


IN    HONOUR  177 

He  paused  for  a  moment  to  reflect  upon  his 
long-drawn  expiation. 

"  I  propose  to  get  my  man  home  to  England, 
and  let  him  there  stand  his  trial.  The  idea  is  not 
my  own  ;  it  has,  in  fact,  been  carried  out  success- 
fully before  now.  Once  in  England,  I  shall  make 
it  my  business  to  see  that  he  gets  twenty  years' 
penal  servitude." 

u  And  how  do  you  propose  to  get  him  to  Eng- 
land ? "  asked  Conyngham. 

"  Oh,  that  is  simple  enough  !  Only  a  matter 
of  paying  a  couple  of  such  scoundrels  as  I  under- 
stand abound  in  Spain  at  this  moment,  a  little 
bribery  of  officials,  a  heavy  fee  to  some  English  ship 
captain  —  I  propose,  in  short,  to  kidnap  Frederick 
Conyngham.  But  I  do  not  ask  you  to  help  me  in 
that.  I  only  ask  you  to  put  me  on  his  track ;  to 
help  me  to  find  him,  in  fact.     Will  you  do  it?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Conyngham,  coming  forward 
with  a  card  in  his  hand ;  "  you  could  not  have 
come  to  a  better  man." 

Sir  John  Pleydell  read  the  card,  and  had  himself 

in  such  control  that  his  face  hardly  changed.      His 

teeth  closed  over  his  lower  lip  for  a  second,  then 

he  rose.     The  perspiration  stood  out  on  his  face, 

the  gray  of  his  eyes  seemed  to  have  faded  to  the 

colour  of  ashes.      He  looked  hard  at  Conyngham, 

and    then   taking   up   his  hat,  went    to    the    door 

with  nervous,  uneven  steps.     On  the  threshold  he 

turned. 

12 


178  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 


u 


Your  insolence,"  he  said,  breathlessly,"  is  only 
exceeded  by  your  —  daring  !  " 

As  the  door  closed  behind  him  there  came  from 
that  part  of  the  room  where  General  Vincente  sat 
a  muffled  click  of  steel,  as  if  a  sword  half  out  of 
its  scabbard  had  been  sent  softly  home  again. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

IN    MADRID 

u  Le  plus  grand  art  d'un  habile  homme  est  celui  de  savoir 
cacher  son  habilete." 

"  Who  travels  slowly  may  arrive  too  late,"  said 
the  Padre  Concha,  with  a  pessimistic  shake  of  the 
head,  as  the  carrier's  cart,  in  which  he  had  come 
from  Toledo,  drew  up  in  the  Plazuela  de  la  Cebada, 
at  Madrid.  The  careful  penury  of  many  years 
had  not,  indeed,  enabled  the  old  priest  to  travel  by 
the  quick  dillgencias,  which  had  often  passed  him 
on  the  road  with  a  cloud  of  dust  and  the  rattle  of 
six  horses.  The  great  journey  had  been  accom- 
plished in  the  humbler  vehicles  plying  from  town 
to  town,  that  ran  as  often  as  not  by  night,  in  order 
to  save  the  horses. 

The  priest,  like  his  fellow-travellers,  was  white 
with  dust.  Dust  covered  his  cloak,  so  that  its 
original  hue  of  dusty  black  was  quite  lost.  Dust 
covered  his  face  and  nestled  in  the  deep  wrinkles 
of  it.  His  eyebrows  were  lost  to  sight,  and  his 
lashes  were  like  those  of  a  miller. 

As  he  stood  in  the  street,  the  dust  arose  in 
whirling    columns    and    enveloped    all    who    were 


180  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

abroad,  for  a  gale  was  howling  across  the  table- 
land, which  the  Moors  of  old  had  named  majerit^  a 
draught  of  wind.  The  conductor,  who,  like  a  good 
and  jovial  conductor,  had  never  refused  an  offer  of 
refreshment  on  the  road,  was  now  muddled  with 
drink  and  the  heat  of  the  sun.  He  was,  in  fact, 
engaged  in  a  warm  controversy  with  a  passenger, 
so  the  padre  found  his  own  humble  portmanteau  — 
a  thing  of  cardboard  and  canvas  —  and  trudged  up 
the  Calle  de  Toledo,  bearing  it  in  one  hand  and  his 
cloak  in  the  other,  a  lean  figure  in  the  sunlight. 

Father  Concha  had  been  in  Madrid  before, 
though  he  rarely  boasted  of  it,  or  indeed  of  any 
of  his  travels. 

"  The  wise  man  does  not  hang  his  knowledge 
on  a  hook,"  he  was  in  the  habit  of  saying. 

That  this  knowledge  was  of  that  useful  descrip- 
tion which  is  usually  designated  as  knowing  one's 
way  about  soon  became  apparent,  for  the  dusty 
traveller  passed  with  unerring  steps  through  the 
narrower  streets  that  lie  between  the  Calle  de 
Toledo  and  the  street  of  Legovia.  Here  dwell 
the  humbler  citizens  of  Madrid,  persons  engaged 
in  the  small  commerce  of  the  market-place,  for  in 
the  Plazuela  de  la  Cebada,  a  hundred  yards  away, 
is  held  the  corn  market,  which,  indeed,  renders  the 
dust  in  this  quarter  particularly  trying  to  the  eyes. 
Once  or  twice  the  priest  was  forced  to  stop  at  the 
corner  of  two  streets,  and  there  do  battle  with  the 
wind. 


IN    MADRID  181 

"  But  it  is  a  hurricane,"  he  muttered  —  "a 
hurricane." 

With  one  hand  he  held  his  hat,  with  the  other 
clung  to  his  cloak  and  portmanteau. 

"  But  it  will  blow  the  dust  from  my  poor  old 
capa"  he  added,  giving  the  cloak  an  additional 
shake. 

He  presently  found  himself  in  a  street  which,  if 
narrower  than  its  neighbours,  smelt  less  pestiferous. 
The  open  drain  that  ran  down  the  middle  of  it 
pursued  its  varied  course  with  a  quite  respectable 
speed.  In  the  middle  of  the  street  Father  Concha 
paused  and  looked  up,  nodding,  as  if  to  an  old 
friend,  at  the  sight  of  a  dingy  piece  of  palm  bound 
to  the  ironwork  of  a  balcony  on  the  second  floor. 

"  The  time  to  wash  off  the  dust,"  he  muttered, 
as  he  climbed  the  narrow  stairs,  "and  then  to 
work." 

An  hour  later  he  was  afoot  again  in  a  quarter 
of  the  city  which  was  less  known  to  him  — 
namely,  in  the  Calle  Preciados,  where  he  sought 
a  venta  more  or  less  suspected  by  the  police.  The 
wind  had  risen,  and  was  now  blowing  with  the 
force  of  a  hurricane.  It  came  from  the  northwest 
with  a  chill  whistle,  which  bespoke  its  birthplace 
among  the  peaks  of  the  Guadarramas.  The 
streets  were  deserted ;  the  oil-lamps  swung  on 
their  chains  at  the  street  corners,  casting  weird 
shadows  that  swept  over  the  face  of  the  houses 
with  uncanny  irregularity.     It  was  an  evening  for 


182  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

evil  deeds,  except  that  when  nature  is  in  an  ill- 
humour  human  nature  is  mostly  cowed,  and  those 
who  have  but  bad  consciences  cannot  rid  their 
minds  of  thoughts  of  the  hereafter. 

The  padre  found  the  house  he  sought,  despite 
the  darkness  of  the  street  and  the  absence  of  any 
from  whom  to  elicit  information.  The  venta  was 
on  the  ground  floor,  and  above  it  towered  story 
after  story,  built  with  the  quaint  fantasy  of  the 
middle  ages,  and  surmounted  by  a  deep,  over- 
hanging gabled  roof.  The  house  seemed  to 
have  two  staircases  of  stones  and  two  doors,  one 
on  each  side  of  the  venta.  There  is  a  Spanish 
proverb  which  says  that  the  rat  which  has  only 
one  hole  is  soon  caught.  Perhaps  the  architect 
remembered  this,  and  had  built  his  house  to  suit 
his  tenants. 

It  was  on  the  fifth  floor  of  this  tenement  that 
Father  Concha,  instructed  by  Heaven  knows  what 
priestly  source  of  information,  looked  to  meet  with 
Sebastian,  the  whilom  body-servant  of  the  late 
Colonel  Monreal,  of  Xeres. 

It  was  known  among  a  certain  section  of  the 
Royalists  that  this  man  had  papers,  and  perchance 
some  information  of  value  to  dispose  of,  and  more 
than  one  respectable  black-clad  elbow  had  brushed 
the  greasy  walls  of  this  stairway.  Sebastian,  it 
was  said,  passed  his  time  in  drinking  and  smoking. 
The  boasted  gaieties  of  Madrid  had,  it  would  ap- 
pear, diminished  to  this  sordid  level  of  dissipation. 


IN    MADRID  183 

The  man  was,  indeed,  thus  occupied  when  the 
old  priest  opened  the  door  of  his  room. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  in  a  thick  voice,  "  I  am 
Sebastian,  of  Xeres,  and  no  other,  the  man  who 
knows  more  of  the  Carlist  plots  than  any  other 
in  Madrid." 

"  Can  you  read  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  you  know  nothing,"  said  the  padre. 
"  You  have,  however,  a  letter  in  a  pink  envelope 
which  a  friend  of  mine  desires  to  possess.  It  is  a 
letter  of  no  importance,  of  no  political  value  —  a 
love-letter,  in  fact." 

"  Ah,  yes  —  ah,  yes  !  That  may  be,  reverendo. 
But  there  are  others  who  want  it  —  your  love- 
letter." 

"  I  offer  you,  on  the  part  of  my  friend,  a  hun- 
dred pesetas  for  this   letter." 

The  wrinkled  face  wore  a  grim  smile.  It  was 
so  little  —  a  hundred  pesetas  —  the  price  of  a 
dinner  for  two  persons  at  one  of  the  great  res- 
taurants on  the  Puerta  del  Sol.  But  to  Father 
Concha  the  sum  represented  five  hundred  cups  of 
black  coffee  denied  to  himself  in  the  evening  at 
the  cafe,  five  hundred  packets  of  cigarettes,  so- 
called  of  Havana,  unsmoked,  two  new  cassocks  in 
the  course  of  twenty  years,  a  hundred  little  gastro- 
nomic delights  sternly  resisted  season  after  season. 
"  Not  enough,  your  hundred  pesetas,  reverendo 
—  not  enough,"  laughed  the  man.     And  Concha, 


1 84  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

who  could  drive  as  keen  a  bargain  as  any  market- 
woman  of  Ronda,  knew  by  the  manner  of  saying 
it  that  Sebastian  only  spoke  the  truth  when  he 
said  that  he  had  other  offers. 

"  See,  reverendo,"  the  man  went  on,  leaning 
across  the  table,  and  banging  a  dirty  fist  upon  it. 
"  Come  to-night  at  ten  o'clock.  There  are  others 
coming  at  the  same  hour  to  buy  my  letter  in  the 
pink  envelope.  We  will  have  an  auction  —  a  little 
auction,  and  the  letter  goes  to  the  highest  bidder. 
But  what  does  your  reverence  want  with  a  love- 
letter  —  eh  ?  " 

"  I  will  come,"  said  the  padre,  and  turning  he 
went  home   to   count  his    money  once  more. 

There  are  many  living  still  who  remember  the 
great  gale  of  wind  which  was  now  raging,  through 
which  Father  Concha  struggled  back  to  the  Calle 
Preciados  as  the  city  clocks  struck  ten.  Old  men 
and  women  still  tell  how  the  theatres  were  deserted 
that  night,  and  the  great  cafes  wrapt  in  darkness, 
for  none  dared  venture  abroad  amid  such  whirl 
and  confusion.  Concha,  however,  with  that  lean 
strength  that  comes  from  a  life  of  abstemiousness 
and  low  living,  crept  along  in  the  shadow  of 
houses,  and  reached  his  destination  unhurt.  The 
tall  house  in  the  alley  leading  from  the  Calle 
Preciados  to  the  Plazuela  Santa  Maria  was  dark, 
as,  indeed,  were  most  of  the  streets  of  Madrid 
this  night.  A  small  moon  struggled,  however, 
through  the  riven  clouds  at  times,  and  cast  streaks 


IN    MADRID  185 

of  lio-ht  down  the  narrow  streets.  Concha  caught 
sicrht  of  the  form  of  a  man  in  the  alley  before  him. 
The  priest  carried  no  weapon,  but  he  did  not 
pause.  At  this  moment  a  gleam  of  light  aided 
him. 

"  Senor  Conyngham,"  he  said,  "  what  brings 
you  here  ?  " 

And  the  Englishman  turned  sharply  on  his  heel. 

"  Is  that  you  —  Father  Concha,  of  Ronda  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  No  other,  my  son." 

Standing  in  the  doorway  Conyngham  held  out 
his  hand  with  that  air  of  good-fellowship,  which  he 
had  not  yet  lost  amid  the  more  formal  Spaniards. 

"  Hardly  the  night  for  respectable  elderly  gentle- 
men of  your  cloth  to  be  in  the  streets,"  he  said, 
whereat  Concha,  who  had  a  keen  appreciation  of 
such  small  pleasantries,  laughed   grimly. 

"  And  I  have  not  even  the  excuse  of  my  cloth. 
I  am  abroad  on  worldly  business,  and  not  even  my 
own.  I  will  be  honest  with  you,  Senor  Conyng- 
ham. I  am  here  to  buy  that  malediction  of  a 
letter  in  a  pink  envelope.  You  remember  in  the 
garden   at   Ronda  —  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  remember ;  and  why  do  you  want  that 
letter  ?  " 

"  For  the  sake  of  Julia  Barenna." 

"  Ah  !  I  want  it  for  the  sake  of  Estella  Vin- 
cente." 

Concha  laughed  shortly. 


1 86  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  It  is  only  up  to  the  age  of 
twenty-five  that  men  imagine  themselves  to  be 
rulers  of  the  world.  But  we  need  not  bid  against 
each  other,  my  son.  Perhaps  a  sight  of  the  letter  be- 
fore I  destroy  it  would  satisfy  the  senorita.  .  .  ." 

"  No,  we  need  not  bid  against  each  other  "  — 
began  Conyngham,  but  the  priest  dragged  him 
back  into  the  doorway  with  a  quick  whisper  of 
"  Silence  !  " 

Some  one  was  coming  down  the  other  staircase 
of  the  tall  house  with  slow  and  cautious  steps. 
Conyngham  and  his  companion  drew  back  to  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  and  waited.  It  became  evident 
that  he  who  descended  the  steps  did  so  without  a 
light.  At  the  door  he  seemed  to  stop,  and  was 
probably  making  sure  that  the  narrow  alley  was 
deserted.  A  moment  later  he  hurried  past  the 
door  where  the  two  men  stood.  The  moon  was 
almost  clear,  and  by  its  light  both  the  watchers 
recognised  Larralde  in  a  flash  of  thought.  The 
next  instant  Esteban  Larralde  was  running  for  his 
life   with  Frederick  Conyngham  on  his  heels. 

The  lamp  at  the  corner  of  the  Calle  Preciados 
had  been  shattered  against  the  wall  by  a  gust  of 
wind,  and  both  men  clattered  through  a  slough  of 
broken  glass.  Down  the  whole  length  of  the 
Preciados  but  one  lamp  was  left  alight,  and  the 
narrow  street  was  littered  with  tiles  and  fallen 
bricks,  for  many  chimneys  had  been  blown  down, 
and  more   than   one   shutter  lay   in   the  roadway, 


IN    MADRID  187 

torn  from  its  hinges  by  the  hurricane.  It  was  at 
the  risk  of  life  that  any  ventured  abroad  at  this 
hour  and  amid  the  whirl  of  falling  masonry.  Lar- 
ralde  and  Conyngham  had  the  Calle  Preciados  to 
themselves,  and  Larralde  cursed  his  spurs,  which 
rang  out  at  each  footfall  and  betrayed  his  where- 
abouts. 

A  dozen  times  the  Spaniard  fell,  but  before  his 
pursuer  could  reach  him  the  same  obstacle  threw 
Conyngham  to  the  ground.  A  dozen  times  some 
falling  object  crashed  to  the  earth  on  the  Spaniard's 
heels,  and  the  Englishman  leapt  aside  to  escape 
the  rebound.  Larralde  was  fleet  of  foot  despite 
his  meagre  limbs,  and  leapt  over  such  obstacles  as 
he  could  perceive  with  the  agility  of  a  monkey. 
He  darted  into  the  lighted  doorway,  the  entrance 
to  the  palatial  mansion  of  an  upstart  politician. 
The  large  doors  were  thrown  open,  and  the  hall- 
porter  stood  in  full  livery  awaiting  the  master's 
carriage.  Larralde  was  already  in  the  patio,  and 
Conyngham  ran  through  the  marble-paved  entrance- 
hall  before  the  porter  realised  what  was  taking 
place.  There  was  no  second  exit,  as  the  fugi- 
tive had  hoped,  so  it  was  round  the  patio  and  out 
again  into  the  dark  street,  leaving  the  hall-porter 
dumbfoundered. 

Larralde  turned  sharply  to  the  right  as  soon  as 
he  gained  the  Calle  Preciados.  It  was  a  mere 
alley  running  the  whole  way  round  a  church,  and 
here  again  was   solitude,  but  not  silence,  for   the 


1 88  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

wind  roared  among  the  chimneys  overhead  as  it 
roars  through  a  ship's  rigging  at  sea.  The  Calle 
Preciados  again,  and  a  momentary  confusion  among 
the  tables  of  a  cafe  that  stood  upon  the  pavement 
amid  upturned  chairs  and  a  fallen,  flapping  awn- 
ing. The  pace  was  less  killing  now,  but  Larralde 
still  held  his  own,  one  hand  clutched  over  the 
precious  letter  regained  at  last,  and  Conyngham 
was  conscious  of  a  sharp  pain  where  the  Spaniard's 
knife  had  touched  his  lung. 

Larralde  ran  mechanically,  with  open  mouth 
and  staring  eyes.  He  never  doubted  that  death 
was  at  his  heels  should  he  fail  to  distance  the  pur- 
suer, for  he  had  recognised  Conyngham  in  the 
patio  of  the  great  house,  and  as  he  ran  the  vague 
wonder  filled  his  mind  whether  the  Englishman 
carried  a  knife.  What  manner  of  death  would  it 
be  if  that  long  arm  reached  him  ?  Esteban  Lar- 
ralde was  afraid.  His  own  life,  Julia's  life,  the 
lives  of  a  whole  Carlist  section  were  at  stake. 
The  history  of  Spain,  perhaps  of  Europe,  depended 
on  the  swiftness  of  his  foot. 

The  little  crescent  moon  was  shining  clearly 
now  between  the  long-drawn  rifts  of  the  rush- 
ing clouds.  Larralde  turned  to  the  right  again 
up  a  narrow  street,  which  seemed  to  promise  a 
friendly  darkness.  The  ascent  was  steep,  and  the 
Spaniard  gasped  for  breath  as  he  ran ;  his  legs 
were  becoming  numb.  He  had  never  been  in  this 
street  before,  and  knew  not  whither  it  led.     But  it 


IN    MADRID  189 

was,  at  all  events,  dark  and  deserted.  Suddenly 
he  fell  upon  a  heap  of  bricks  and  rubbish  —  a 
whole  stack  of  chimneys  —  he  could  smell  the 
soot.  Conyngham  was  upon  him,  touched  him, 
but  failed  to  get  a  grip.  Larralde  was  afoot  in  an 
instant,  and  fell  heavily  down  the  far  side  of  the 
barricade.  He  gained  a  few  yards  again,  and, 
before  Conyngham's  eyes,  was  suddenly  swallowed 
up  in  a  black  mass  of  falling  masonry.  It  was 
more  than  a  chimney  this  time,  nothing  less  than 
a  whole  house  carried  bodily  to  the  ground  by  the 
fall  of  the  steeple  of  the  church  of  Sta.  Maria  del 
Monte.  Conyngham  stopped  dead,  and  threw  his 
arms  over  his  head.  The  crash  was  terrific,  deaf- 
ening, and  for  a  few  moments  the  Englishman  was 
stunned.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  closed  them 
again,  for  the  dust  and  powdered  mortar  whirled 
round  him  like  smoke.  Almost  blinded  he  crept 
back  by  the  way  he  had  come,  and  the  street  was 
already  full  of  people.  In  the  Calle  Preciados  he 
sat  down  on  a  door-step,  and  there  waited  until  he 
had  gained  mastery  over  his  limbs,  which  shook 
like  leaves.  Presently  he  made  his  way  back  to 
the  house  where  he  had  left  Concha. 

The  man  Sebastian  had  a  week  earlier  seen  and 
recognised  Conyngham  as  the  bearer  of  the  letter 
addressed  to  Colonel  Monreal,  and  left  at  that 
officer's  lodging,  in  Xeres,  at  the  moment  of  his 
death  in  the  streets.  Sebastian  approached  Con- 
nyngham,  and    informed    him  that   he   had    in    his 


igo  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

possession  sundry  papers  belonging  to  the  late 
Colonel  Monreal,  which  might  be  of  value  to  a 
Royalist.  This  was,  therefore,  not  the  first  time 
that  Conyngham  had  climbed  the  narrow  stairs  of 
the  tall  house  with  two  doors. 

He  found  Concha  busying  himself  by  the  bed- 
side, where  Sebastian  lay  in  the  unconsciousness 
of  deep  drink. 

"  He  has  probably  been  drugged,"  said  the 
priest,  "  or  he  may  be  dying.  What  is  more 
important  to  us  is  that  the  letter  is  not  here.  I 
have  searched.     Larralde  escaped  you  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and,  of  course,  has  the  letter." 

"  Of  course,  amigo." 

The  priest  looked  at  the  prostrate  man  with  a 
face  of  profound  contempt,  and  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  went  toward  the  door. 

"  Come,"  he  said ;  "  I  must  return  to  Ronda 
and  Julia.  It  is  thither  that  this  Larralde  always 
returns  ;  and  she,  poor  woman,  believes  him.  Ah, 
my  friend,"  —  he  paused  and  shook  his  long  finger 
at  Conyngham, —  "when  a  woman  believes  in  a 
man  she  makes  him  or  mars  him ;  there  is  no 
medium." 


CHAPTER   XVIII 


IN     TOLEDO 


"  Meddle  not  with  many  matters,  for  if  thou  meddle  much 
thou  shalt  not  be  innocent." 

The  Cafe  of  the  Ambassadeurs,  in  the  Calle  de 
la  Montera,  was  at  this  time  the  fashionable  resort 
of  visitors  to  the  city  of  Madrid.  Its  tone  was 
neither  political  nor  urban,  but  savoured  rather  of 
the  cosmopolitan.  The  waiters  at  the  first-class 
hotels  recommended  the  Cafe  of  the  Ambassa- 
deurs, and  stepped  round  to  the  manager's  offices 
at  the  time  of  the  new  year  to  mention  the  fact. 

Sir  John  Pleydell  had  been  rather  nonplussed  by 
his  encounter  with  Conyngham,  and,  being  a  man 
of  the  world  as  well  as  a  lawyer,  sat  down,  as  it 
were,  to  think.  He  had  come  to  Spain  in  the 
first  heat  of  a  great  revenge,  and  such  men  as  he 
take,  like  the  greater  volcanoes,  a  long  time  to 
cool  down.  He  had  been  prepossessed  in  the 
favour  of  the  man  who  subsequently  owned  to 
being  Frederick  Conyngham,  and  the  very  manner 
in  which  this  admission  was  made  redounded  in 
some  degree  to  the  honour  of  the  young  English- 


i92  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

man.  Here,  at  least,  was  one  who  had  no  fear,  and 
fearlessness  appeals  to  the  heart  of  every  Briton, 
from  the  peer  to  the  navvy. 

Sir  John  took  a  certain  cold  interest  in  his  sur- 
roundings and  in  due  course  was  recommended  to 
spend  an  evening  at  the  Cafe  des  Ambassadeurs, 
as  it  styled  itself,  for  the  habit  of  preferring  French 
to  Spanish  designations  for  places  of  refreshment 
had  come  in  since  the  great  revolution.  Sir  John 
went,  therefore,  to  the  cafe,  and  with  characteristic 
scorn  of  elemental  disturbances  chose  to  resort 
thither  on  the  evening  of  the  great  gale.  The 
few  other  occupants  of  the  gorgeous  room  eyed  his 
half-bottle  of  claret  with  a  grave  and  decorous 
wonder,  but  made  no  attempt  to  converse  with 
this  chill-looking  Englishman.  At  length,  about 
ten  o'clock,  or  a  few  minutes  later,  entered  one 
who  bowed  to  Sir  John  with  an  air  full  of  affable 
promise.  This  was  Larralde,  who  called  a  waiter 
and  bade  him  fetch  a  coat-brush. 

"  Would  you  believe  it,  sir,"  he  said,  addressing 
Sir  John  in  broken  English,  "but  I  have  just 
escaped  a  terrible  death." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  spread  out  his  hands, 
and  laughed  good-humouredly,  after  the  manner  of 
one  who  has  no  foes. 

"The  fall  of  a  chimney  —  so  —  within  a  metre 
of  my  shoulder." 

He  threw  back  his  cloak  with  a  graceful  swing 
of  the  arm,  and  handed  it  to  the  waiter.     Then  he 


IN   TOLEDO  193 

drew  forward  a  chair  to  the  table  occupied  by  Sir 
John,  who  sipped  his  claret  and  bowed  coldly. 

"  You  must  not  think  that  Madrid  is  always  like 
this,"  said  Larralde.  "  But  perhaps  you  know  the 
city  .  .  .  ?" 

"No;  this  is  my  first  visit." 

Larralde  turned  aside  to  give  his  order  to  the 
waiter.  His  movements  were  always  picturesque, 
and  in  the  presence  of  Englishmen  he  had  a  habit 
of  accentuating  those  characteristics  of  speech  and 
manner  which  are  held  by  our  countrymen  to  be 
native  to  the  Peninsula.  There  is  nothing  so 
disarming  as  conventionality,  and  nothing  less  sus- 
picious.    Larralde  seemed  to  be  a  typical  Spaniard 

—  indolently  polite,  gravely  indifferent,  a  cigarette- 
smoking  nonentity. 

They  talked  of  topics  of  the  day,  and  chiefly  of 
that  great  event,  the  hurricane,  which  was  still 
raging.  Larralde,  whose  habit  it  was  to  turn  his 
neighbour  to  account  —  a  seed  of  greatness  this  ! 

—  had  almost  concluded  that  the  Englishman  was 
useless,  when  the  conversation  turned,  as  it  was 
almost  bound  to  turn  between  these  two,  upon 
Conyngham. 

"  There  are  but  few  of  your  countrymen  in 
Madrid  at  the  moment,"  Larralde  had  said. 

"  I  know  but  one,"  was  the  guarded  reply. 

"  And  I  also,"  said  Larralde,  flicking  the  ash 
from  his  cigarette.  "  A  young  fellow  who  has 
made  himself  somewhat  notorious  in  the  Royalist 

13 


194  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

cause  —  a  cause  in  which,  I  admit,  I  have  no 
sympathy.      His  name  is  Conyngham." 

Then  a  silence  fell  upon  the  two  men,  and  over 
raised  glasses  they  glanced  surreptitiously  at  each 
other. 

"  I  know  him  !  "  said  Sir  John,  at  length,  and 
the  tone  of  his  voice  made  Larralde  glance  up 
with  a  sudden  gleam  in  his  eyes.  There  thus 
sprang  into  existence  between  them  the  closest  of 
all  bonds  —  a  common  foe. 

"  The  man  has  done  me  more  than  one  ill 
turn,"  said  Larralde,  after  a  pause,  and  he  drummed 
on  the  table  with  his  cigarette-stained  fingers. 

Sir  John,  looking  at  him  coldly,  gauged  the 
Spaniard  with  the  deadly  skill  of  his  calling.  He 
noted  that  Larralde  was  poor  and  ambitious,  quali- 
ties that  often  raise  the  devil  in  a  human  heart 
when  fortune  brings  them  there  together.  He 
was  not  deceived  by  the  picturesque  manner  of 
Julia's  lover,  but  knew  exactly  how  much  was 
assumed  of  that  air  of  simple  vanity  to  which 
Larralde  usually  treated  strangers.  He  probably 
gauged,  at  one  glance,  the  depth  of  the  man's 
power  for  good  or  ill,  his  sincerity,  his  possible 
usefulness.  In  the  hands  of  Sir  John  Pleydell 
Larralde  was  the  merest  tool. 

They  sat  until  long  after  midnight,  and  before 
they  parted  Sir  John  Pleydell  handed  to  his  com- 
panion a  roll  of  notes,  which  he  counted  carefully, 
and  Larralde  accepted  with  a  grand  air  of  conde- 
scension and  indifference. 


IN   TOLEDO  195 

"  You  know  my  address,"  said  Sir  John,  with  a 
slight  suggestion  of  masterfulness,  which  had  not 
been  noticeable  before  the  money  changed  hands. 
"  I  shall  remain  at  the  same  hotel." 

Larralde  nodded  his  head. 

"  I  shall  remember  it,"  he  said  ;  "  and  now  I  go 
to  take  a  few  hours'  rest.  I  have  had  a  hard  day, 
and  am  as  tired  as  a  shepherd's  dog." 

And,  indeed,  the  day  had  been  busy  enough. 
Senor  Larralde  hummed  an  air  between  his  teeth 
as  he  struggled  against  the  fierce  wind. 

Before  dawn  the  gale  subsided,  and  daylight 
broke  over  the  city,  where  sleep  had  been  almost 
unknown  during  the  night,  with  a  clear,  calm 
freshness.  The  sun  had  not  yet  risen  when  Lar- 
ralde took  the  road  on  his  poor,  thin,  black  horse. 
He  rode  through  the  streets,  still  littered  with  the 
debris  of  fallen  chimneys,  slates,  and  shutters,  with 
his  head  up  and  his  mind  so  full  of  the  great 
schemes  which  gave  him  no  rest,  that  he  never 
saw  Concepcion  Vara,  going  to  market,  with  a 
basket  on  his  arm  and  a  cigarette,  unlighted,  be- 
tween his  lips.  Concepcion  turned  and  watched 
the  horseman,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  quietly 
followed  until  the  streets  were  left  behind,  and 
there  could  no  longer  be  any  doubt  that  Larralde 
was  bound  for  Toledo. 

Thither,  indeed,  he  journeyed  throughout  the 
day,  with  a  leisureliness  begotten  of  the  desire  to 
enter  the  ancient  city  after  nightfall  only.     Toledo 


196  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

was  at  this  time  the  smouldering  hotbed  of  those 
political  intrigues  which,  some  years  later,  burst 
into  flame  and  resulted  finally  in  the  expulsion  of 
the  Bourbons  from  the  throne  of  Spain.  Larralde 
was  sufficiently  dangerous  to  require  watching, 
and,  like  many  of  his  kind,  considered  himself  of 
a  greater  importance  than  his  enemies  were  pleased 
to  attach  to  him.  The  city  of  Toledo  is,  as  many 
know,  almost  surrounded  by  the  rapid  Tagus,  and 
entrance  to  its  narrow  confine  is  only  to  be  gained 
by  two  gates.  To  pass  either  of  these  barriers  in 
open  day  would  be  to  court  a  publicity  singularly 
undesirable  at  this  time,  for  Esteban  Larralde  was 
slipping  down  the  social  slope,  which  gradual  pro- 
gress is  the  hardest  to  arrest.  If  one  is  mounting 
there  are  plenty  to  help  him  —  those  from  above 
seeking  to  make  unto  themselves  friends  of  the 
mammon  of  unrighteousness,  those  from  below 
hoping  to  tread  in  the  footsteps  he  may  leave. 
Each  step,  however,  of  the  upward  progress  has  to 
be  gained  at  the  expense  of  another;  but  on  the 
descent  there  are  none  to  stay  and  many  to  push 
behind,  while  those  in  front  make  room  readily 
enough.  Larralde  had  for  the  first  time  accepted 
a  direct  monetary  reward  for  his  services.  That 
this  had  been  offered  and  accepted  in  a  polite 
Spanish  manner,  as  an  advance  of  expenses  to  be 
incurred,  was,  of  course,  only  natural  under  the 
circumstances ;  but  the  fact  remained  that  Esteban 
Larralde  was  no  longer  a  picturesque  conspirator, 


IN   TOLEDO 


197 


serving  a  failing  cause  with  that  devotion  which 
can  only  be  repaid  later  by  higher  honours,  and  a 
past  carrying  with  it  emoluments  of  proportionate 
value.  He  had,  in  fact,  been  paid  in  advance, 
which  is  the  surest  sign  of  distrust  upon  one  side 
or  the  other. 

The  Barennas  had  been  established  at  their 
house  in  Toledo  some  weeks,  and  for  Julia  life 
had  been  dull  enough.  She  had  hastened  North- 
ward, knowing  well  that  her  lover's  intrigues  must 
necessarily  bring  him  to  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
capital,  perhaps  to  Toledo  itself.  Larralde  had, 
however,  hitherto  failed  to  come  near  her,  and  the 
news  of  the  day  reported  an  increasing  depression 
in  the  ranks  of  the  Carlists.  Indeed,  that  cause 
seemed  now  at  such  a  low  ebb,  that  the  franker 
mercenaries  were  daily  drifting  away  to  more 
promising  scenes  of  warfare,  while  some  cynically 
accepted  commissions  in  the  army  of  Espartero. 

"  I  always  said  that  Don  Carlos  would  fail  if 
he  employed  such  men  .  .  .  as  .  .  .  well,  as  he 
does,"  Madame  Barenna  took  more  than  one 
opportunity  of  observing  at  this  time,  and  her  em- 
phatic fan  rapped  the  personal  application  home. 

She  had  just  made  this  remark,  for  perhaps  the 
sixth  time  one  evening,  when  the  door  of  the  patio, 
where  she  and  Julia  sat,  was  thrown  open,  and 
Larralde,  the  person  indirectly  referred  to,  came 
toward  the  ladies.  He  was  not  afraid  of  Madame 
Barenna,  and  his  tired  face  lightened  visibly  at  the 


198  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

sight  of  Julia.  Concha  was  right.  According  to 
his  lights,  Larralde  loved  Julia.  She,  who  knew 
every  expression,  noted  the  look  in  his  face,  and 
her  heart  leapt  within  her  breast.  She  had  long 
secretly  rejoiced  over  the  failure  of  the  Carlist 
cause.  Such,  messieurs,  is  the  ambition  of  a 
woman  for  the  man  she  really  loves. 

Senora  Barenna  rose  and  held  out  her  hand  with 
a  beaming  smile.  She  was  rather  bored  that  even- 
ing, and  it  was  pleasant  to  imagine  herself  in  the 
midst  of  great  political  intrigues. 

"  We  were  wondering  if  you  would  come,"  she 
said. 

a  I  am  here,  there,  everywhere  ;  but  I  always 
come  back  to  the  Casa  Barenna,"  he  said  gallantly. 

"  You  look  tired,"  said  Julia,  quietly.  "  Where 
are  you  from  ?  " 

"  At  the  moment  I  am  from  Madrid.  The  city 
has  been  wrecked  by  a  tornado.  I  myself  almost 
perished  —  " 

He  paused,  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  What  will  you  ? "  he  added  carelessly. 
"  What    is   life,  a  single   life   in    Spain   to-day  ? " 

Julia  winced.  It  is  marvellous  how  an  intelli- 
gent woman  may  blind  herself  into  absolute  belief 
in  one  man.     Senora  Barenna  shuddered. 

"  Blessed  Heaven  !  "  she  whispered  ;  "  why 
does  not  some  one  do  something  ? " 

"  One  does  one's  best,"  answered  Larralde,  with 
his  hand  at  his  moustache. 


IN   TOLEDO  199 

"  But  yes  !  "  said  madame,  eagerly.  She  had  a 
shrewd  common  sense,  as  many  apparently  foolish 
women  have,  and  probably  put  the  right  value  on 
Senor  Larralde's  endeavours.  Father  Concha  and 
the  general  were,  however,  far  away,  and  all 
women  are  time-servers. 

Larralde  spoke  of  general  news,  and  when  he  at 
length  proposed  to  Julia  that  they  should  take  a 
pasear  in  the  garden,  the  elder  lady  made  no 
objection.  For  some  moments  Julia  was  quite 
happy.  She  had  schooled  herself  into  a  sort  of 
contentment,  in  the  hope  that  her  turn  would 
come  when  ambition  failed.  Perhaps  this  moment 
had  arrived.  At  all  events,  Larralde  acquitted 
himself  well,  and  seemed  sincere  enough  in  his 
joy  at  seeing  her  again. 

"  Do  you  love  me  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

Julia  gave  a  little  laugh.  Heaven  has  been 
opened  by  such  a  laugh  ere  now,  and  men  have 
seen  for  a  moment  the  brightness  of  it. 

u  Enough  to  leave  Spain  forever  and  live  in  an- 
other country  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Enough  to  risk  something  now  for  my 
sake  ?  " 

"  Enough  to  risk  everything,"  she  answered. 

11 1  have  tried  to  gain  a  great  position  for  you," 
went  on  Larralde,  "  and  fortune  has  been  against 
me.  I  have  failed.  The  Carlist  cause  is  dead, 
Julia.     Our  chief  has  failed  us;  that  is  the  truth 


200  IN    KEDAR'S    TENTS 

of  it.  We  set  him  up  as  a  king,  but  —  but  unless 
we  hold  him  upright  he  falls.  He  is  a  man  of 
straw.  We  are  making  one  last  effort,  as  you 
know ;  but  it  is  a  dangerous  one,  and  we  have  had 
misfortunes.  This  pestilential  Englishman !  No 
one  may  say  how  much  he  knows.  He  has  had 
the  letter  too  long  in  his  possession  for  our  safety. 
But  I  have  outwitted  him  this  time." 

Larralde  paused  and  drew  from  his  pocket  the 
letter  in  the  pink  envelope,  somewhat  soiled  by  its 
passage  through  the  hands  of  Colonel  Monreal's 
servant. 

"  It  requires  two  more  signatures,  and  will  then 
be  complete,"  said  the  upholder  of  Don  Carlos. 
"  We  shall  then  make  our  coup.  But  we  cannot 
move  while  Conyngham  remains  in  Spain.  It 
would  never  do  for  me  to  .  .  .  well,  to  get  shot 
at  this  moment  .  .   ." 

Julia  breathed  hard. 

".  .  .  And  that  is  what  Mr.  Conyngham  is  en- 
deavouring to  bring  about.  In  the  first  place,  he 
wants  this  letter  to  show  to  Estella  Vincente  — 
some  foolish  romance.  In  the  second  place,  he 
hates  me  and  seeks  promotion  in  the  Royalist 
ranks.  These  Englishmen  are  unscrupulous.  He 
tried  to  take  my  life  only  last  night.  I  bear  him 
no  ill-feeling.  A  la  guerre  comme  a  la  guerre.  My 
only  intention  is  to  get  him  quietly  out  of  Spain. 
It  can  be  managed  easily  enough.  Will  you  help 
me,  to  save  my  own  life  ?  " 


IN   TOLEDO  201 

"  Yes,"  answered  Julia. 

u  I  want  you  to  write  a  letter  to  Conyngham, 
saying  that  you  are  tired  of  political  intrigue." 

"  Heaven  knows  that  would  be  true  enough  !  " 
put  in  Julia. 

"  And  that  you  will  give  him  the  letter  he 
desires,  on  the  condition  that  he  promises  to  show 
it  to  no  one  but  Estella  Vincente  and  return  it  to 
you.  That  you  will  also  swear  that  it  is  the  iden- 
tical letter  that  he  handed  to  you  in  the  general's 
garden  at  Ronda.  If  Conyngham  agrees,  he  must 
meet  you  at  the  back  of  the  Church  of  Santa 
Tome,  in  the  Calle  Pedro  Martir  here,  in  Toledo, 
next  Monday  evening  at  seven  o'clock.  Will  you 
write  this  letter,  Julia  ?  " 

"  And  Estella  Vincente  ?  "  inquired  Julia. 

"  She  will  forget  him  in  a  week,"  laughed 
Larralde. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

CONCEPCION    TAKES    THE    ROAD 

"Who  knows?     The  man  is  proven  by  the  hour." 

After  the  great  storm  came  a  calm  almost  as 
startling.  It  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  Nature  stood 
abashed  and  silent  before  the  results  of  her  sudden 
rage.  Day  after  day  the  sun  glared  down  from  a 
cloudless  sky,  and  all  Castile  was  burnt  brown  as 
a  desert.  In  the  streets  of  Madrid  there  arose  a 
hot  dust,  and  that  subtle  odour  of  warm  earth  that 
rarely  meets  the  nostrils  in  England.  It  savoured 
of  India  and  other  sun-steeped  lands,  where  water 
is  too  precious  to  throw  upon  the  roads. 

Those  who  could  remained  indoors  or  in  their 
shady  patios  until  the  heat  of  the  day  was  past,  and 
such  as  worked  in  the  open  lay  unchallenged  in  the 
shade  from  midday  till  three  o'clock.  During 
those  days  military  operations  were  almost  sus- 
pended, although  the  heads  of  departments  were 
busy  enough  in  their  offices.  The  confusion  of 
war,  it  seemed,  was  past,  and  the  sore-needed  peace 
was  immediately  turned  to  good  account.  The 
army  of  the  Queen  Regent  was,  indeed,  in  an 
almost   wrecked    condition,  and    among  the  field 


CONCEPCION  TAKES  THE  ROAD  203 

officers  jealousy  and  backbiting,  which  had  smoul- 
dered through  the  war-time,  broke  out  openly. 
General  Vincente  was  rarely  at  home,  and  Estella 
passed  this  time  in  quiet  seclusion.  Coming  as 
she  did  from  Andalusia,  she  was  accustomed  to  an 
even  greater  heat,  and  knew  how  to  avoid  the 
discomfort  of  it. 

She  was  sitting  one  afternoon  with  open  windows 
and  closed  jalousies,  during  the  time  of  the  siesta, 
when  the  servant  announced  Father  Concha. 

The  old  priest  came  into  the  room  wiping  his 
brow  with  simple  ill-manners. 

u  You  have  been  hurrying,  and  have  no  regard 
for  the  sun,"  said  Estella. 

"  You  need  not  find  shelter  for  an  old  ox," 
replied  Concha,  seating  himself.  "  It  is  the  young 
ones  that  expose  themselves   unnecessarily." 

Estella  glanced  at  him  sharply,  but  said  nothing. 
He  sat,  handkerchief  in  hand,  and  stared  at  a  shaft 
of  sunlight  that  lay  across  the  floor  from  a  gap  in 
the  jalousies.  From  the  street  under  the  windows 
came  the  distant  sounds  of  traffic  and  the  cries  of 
the  vendors  of  water,  fruit,  and  newspapers. 

Father  Concha  looked  puzzled,  and  seemed  to 
be  seeking  his  way  out  of  a  difficulty.  Estella  sat 
back  in  her  chair,  half  hidden  by  her  slow-waving 
black  fan.  There  is  no  pride  so  difficult  as  that 
which  is  unconscious  of  its  own  existence,  no 
heart  so  hard  to  touch  as  that  wh;ch  throws  its 
stake   and   asks   neither   sympathy   nor    admiration 


204  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

from  the  outside  world.  Concha  glanced  at  Estella, 
and  wondered  if  he  had  been  mistaken.  There 
was  in  the  old  man's  heart,  as,  indeed,  there  is  in 
nearly  all  human  hearts,  a  thwarted  instinct.  How 
many  are  there  with  paternal  instincts  who  have 
no  children,  how  many  a  poet  has  been  lost  by 
the  crying  needs  of  hungry  mouths.  It  was  a 
thwarted  instinct  that  made  the  old  priest  busy 
himself  with  the  affairs  of  other  people,  and  always 
of  young  people. 

"  I  came  hoping  to  see  your  father,"  he  said  at 
length,  blandly  untruthful.  "  I  have  just  seen 
Conyngham,  in  whom  we  are  all  interested,  I 
think.  His  lack  of  caution  is  singular.  I  have 
been  trying  to  persuade  him  not  to  do  something 
most  rash  and  imprudent.  You  remember  the 
incident  in  your  garden  at  Ronda  —  a  letter  which 
he  gave  to  Julia  ?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Estella,  quietly  ;  "I  remember." 

"  For  some  reason,  which  he  did  not  explain, 
I  understand  that  he  is  desirous  of  regaining  pos- 
session of  that  letter,  and  now  Julia,  writing  from 
Toledo,  tells  him  that  she  will  give  it  to  him  if  he 
will  go  there  and  fetch  it.  The  Toledo  road,  as 
you  will  remember,  is  hardly  to  be  recommended 
to  Mr.   Conyngham." 

"  But  Julia  wishes  him  no  harm,"  said  Estella. 

"  My  child,  rarely  trust  a  political  man  and 
never  a  political  woman.  If  Julia  wished  him  to 
have  the  letter,  she  could  have  sent  it  to  him  by 


CONCEPCION  TAKES  THE  ROAD  205 

post.  But  Conyngham,  who  is  all  eagerness,  must 
needs  refuse  to  listen  to  my  argument,  and  starts 
this  afternoon  for  Toledo  —  alone.  He  has  not 
even  his  servant,  Concepcion  Vara,  who  has  sud- 
denly disappeared,  and  a  woman,  who  claims  to 
be  the  scoundrel's  wife,  from  Algeciras,  has  been 
making  inquiries  at  Conyngham's  lodging.  A 
hen's  eyes  are  where  her  eggs  lie.  I  offered  to 
go  to  Toledo  with  Conyngham,  but  he  laughed  at 
me  for  a  useless  old  priest,  and  said  that  the  saddle 
would  gall  me." 

He  paused,  looking  at  her  beneath  his  shaggy 
brows,  knowing,  as  he  had  always  known,  that 
this  was  a  woman  beyond  his  reach  —  cleverer, 
braver,  of  a  higher  mind  than  her  sisters  —  one  to 
whom  he  might  perchance  tender  some  small  assis- 
tance, but  nothing  better;  for  women  are  wiser 
in  their  generation  than  men,  and  usually  know 
better  what  is  for  their  own  happiness.  Estella 
returned  his  glance  with  steady  eyes. 

"  He  has  gone,"  said  Concha.  "  I  have  not 
been  sent  to  tell  you  that  he  is  going." 

"  I  did  not  think  that  you  had,"  she  answered. 

"  Conyngham  has  enemies  in  this  country," 
continued  the  priest,  "  and  despises  them,  a  mis- 
take to  which  his  countrymen  are  singularly  liable. 
He  has  gone  off  on  this  foolish  quest  without  prep- 
aration or  precaution.  Toledo  is,  as  you  know, 
a  hotbed  of  intrigue  and  dissatisfaction.  All  the 
malcontents  in  Spain  congregate  there,  and  Conyng- 


206  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

ham  would  do  well  to  avoid  their  company.  Who 
lies  down  with  dogs  gets  up  with  fleas." 

He  paused,  tapping  his  snufF-box,  and  at  that 
moment  the  door  opened  to  admit  General  Vincente. 

"  Oh,  the  padre  !  "  cried  that  cheerful  soldier. 
"  But  what  a  sun  —  eh  ?  It  is  cool  here,  however, 
and  Estella's  room  is  always  a  quiet  one." 

He  touched  her  cheek  affectionately,  and  drew 
forward  a  low  chair,  wherein  he  sat,  carefully  dis- 
posing of  the  sword  that  always  seemed  too  large 
for  him. 

"  And  what  news  has  the  padre  ?  "  he  asked, 
daintily  touching  his  brow  with  his  folded  pocket- 
handkerchief. 

"  Bad  ! "  growled  Concha,  and  then  told  his 
tale  over  again  in  a  briefer,  blunter  manner.  "  It 
all  arises,"  he  concluded,  "  from  my  pestilential 
habit  of  interfering  in  the  affairs  of  other  people." 

"  No,"  said  General  Vincente  ;  "  it  arises  from 
Conyngham's  pestilential  habit  of  acquiring  friends 
wherever  he  goes." 

The  door  was  opened  again  and  a  servant 
entered. 

"  Excellency,"  he  said,  "  a  man  called  Concep- 
cion  Vara,  who  desires  a  moment." 

"  What  did  I  tell  you  ? "  said  the  general  to 
Concha.  "  Another  of  Conyngham's  friends. 
Spain  is  full  of  them.  Let  Concepcion  Vara  come 
to  this  room." 

The  servant  looked  slightly  surprised  and  retired. 


CONCEPCION  TAKES  THE  ROAD  207 

If,  however,  this  manner  of  reception  was  unusual, 
Concepcion  was  too  finished  a  man  of  the  world  to 
betray  either  surprise  or  embarrassment.  By  good 
fortune  he  happened  to  be  wearing  a  coat.  His 
flowing,  unstarched  shirt  was,  as  usual,  spotless ; 
he  wore  a  flower  in  the  ribbon  of  the  hat  carried 
jauntily  in  his  hand,  and  about  his  person,  in  the 
form  of  handkerchief  and  faja,  were  those  touches 
of  bright  colour,  by  means  of  which  he  so  irresistibly 
attracted  the  eye  of  the  fair. 

"  Excellency  !  "  he  murmured,  bowing  on  the 
threshold.  "  Reverendo  !  "  with  one  step  forward 
and  a  respectful  semi-religious  inclination  of  the 
head  toward  Concha.  "  Senorita  !  "  The  cere- 
mony here  concluded  with  a  profound  obeisance  to 
Estella,  full  of  gallantry  and  grave  admiration. 
Then  he  stood  upright,  and  indicated  by  a  pleasant 
smile  that  no  one  need  feel  embarrassed  —  that, 
in  fact,  this  meeting  was  most  opportune. 

"  A  matter  of  urgency,  excellency,"  he  said 
confidentially  to  Vincente.  "I  have  reason  to 
suspect  that  one  of  my  friends  —  in  fact,  the 
Senor  Conyngham,  with  whom  I  am  at  the  moment 
in  service  —  happens  to  be  in  danger." 

"  Ah !  What  makes  you  suspect  that,  my 
friend  ?  " 

Concepcion  waved  his  hand  airily,  as  if  indicat- 
ing that  the  news  had  been  brought  to  him  by  the 
birds  of  the  air. 

"  When  one  goes  into  the  cafe,"  he  said,  "  one 


208  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

is  not  always  so  particular,  one  associates  with 
those  who  happen  to  be  there  —  muleteers,  diligen- 
cia-drivers,  bull-fighters,  all  and  sundry,  even 
c on  trabandistas.' ' 

He  made  this  last  admission  with  a  face  full 
of  pious  toleration,  and  Father  Concha  laughed 
grimly. 

"  That  is  true,  my  friend,"  said  the  general, 
hastening  to  cover  the  priest's  little  lapse  of  good 
manners.  "  And  from  these  gentlemen,  honest 
enough  in  their  way,  no  doubt,  you  have  learnt  —  " 

"  That  the  Sefior  Conyngham  has  enemies  in 
Spain." 

u  So  I  understand  ;  but  he  has  also  friends." 

"  He  has  one,"  said  Vara,  taking  up  a  fine 
picturesque  attitude,  with  his  left  hand  at  his  waist, 
where  the  deadly  knife  was  concealed  in  the  rolls 
of  his  faj a. 

"  Then  he  is  fortunate,"  said  the  general,  with 
his  most  winning  smile.  "  Why  do  you  come  to 
me,  my  friend  ?  " 

"  I  require  two  men,"  answered  Concepcion, 
airily.     "That  is  all." 

"  Ah  !      What  sort  of  men  — guardia  civile  ?  " 

"  The  holy  saints  forbid  !  Honest  soldiers,  if  it 
please  your  excellency.  The  guardia  civile^  see 
you,  excellency  —  " 

He  paused,  shaking  his  outspread  hand  from 
side  to  side,  palm  downward,  fingers  apart,  as  if 
describing  a  low  level  of  humanity. 


CONCEPCION  TAKES  THE  ROAD  209 

"  A  brutal  set  of  men,"  he  continued,  "  with  the 
finger  ever  on  the  trigger  and  the  rifle  ever  loaded. 
Pam!  and  a  life  is  taken — many  of  my  friends  —  at 
least,  many  persons  I  have  met   ...   in  the  cafe." 

"  It  is  better  to  give  him  his  two  men,"  put  in 
Father  Concha,  in  his  atrocious  English,  speaking 
to  the  general.  "  The  man  is  honest  in  his  love 
of  Conyngham,  if  in  nothing  else." 

"  And  if  I  accord  you  these  two  men,  my  friend," 
said  the  general,  from  whose  face  Estella's  eyes 
had  never  moved,  "  will  you  undertake  that  Mr- 
Conyngham  comes  to  no  harm  ? " 

"  I  will  arrange  it,"  replied  Concepcion,  with  an 
easy  shrug  of  the  shoulders  —  "I  will  arrange  it, 
never  fear." 

"  You  shall  have  two  men,"  said  General  Vin- 
cente,  drawing  a  writing  case  toward  himself  and 
proceeding  to  write  the  necessary  order  —  "men 
who  are  known  to  me  personally.  You  can  rely 
upon  them  at  all  times  —  " 

"  Since  they  are  friends  of  his  excellency's,"  in- 
terrupted Concepcion,  with  much  condescension, 
"  that  suffices." 

"  He  will  require  money,"  said  Estella,  in  Eng- 
lish, her  eyes  bright  and  her  cheeks  flushed  ;  for 
she  came  of  a  fighting  race,  and  her  repose  of 
manner,  the  dignity  which  sat  rather  strangely 
on  her  slim  young  shoulders,  were  only  signs  or 
that  self-control  which  had  been  handed  down 
to  her  through  the  ages. 

14 


210  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

The  general  nodded  as  he  wrote. 
"  Take  that  to  headquarters,"  he  said,  handing 
the  papers  to  Concepcion,  "  and  in  less  than  half 
an  hour  your  men  will  be  ready.  Mr.  Conyng- 
ham  is  a  friend  of  mine,  as  you  know,  and  any 
expenses  incurred  on  his  behalf  will  be  defrayed 
by  myself." 

Concepcion  held  up  his  hand. 

"  It  is  unnecessary,  excellency,"  he  said.  "  At 
present  Mr.  Conyngham  has  funds.  Only  yester- 
day he  gave  me  money.  He  liquidated  my  little 
account.  It  has  always  been  a  jest  between  us, 
that  little   account." 

He  laughed  pleasantly  and  moved  toward  the  door. 

"  Vara,"  said  Father  Concha. 

"  Yes,  reverendo." 

"  If  I  meet  your  wife  in  Madrid,  what  shall  I 
say  to  her  ?  " 

Concepcion  turned  and  looked  into  the  smiling 
face  of  the  old  priest. 

«  In  Madrid,  reverendo  ?  How  can  you  think 
of  such  a  thing  ?  My  wife  lives  in  Algeciras,  and 
at  times,  see  you  .  .  ."  he  stopped,  casting  his 
eyes  up  to  the  ceiling  and  fetching  an  exaggerated 
sigh  —  «  at  times  my  heart  aches.  But  now  I  must 
get  to  the  saddle.  What  a  thing  is  duty,  reverendo 
—  duty  !      God  be  with  your  excellencies." 

And  he  hurried  out  of  the  room. 

"  If  you  would  make  a  thief  honest,  trust  him," 
said  Concha,  when  the  door  was  closed. 


CONCEPCION  TAKES  THE  ROAD  211 

In  less  than  an  hour  Concepcion  was  on  the 
road,  accompanied  by  two  troopers,  who  were 
ready  enough  to  travel  in  company  with  a  man  of 
his  reputation,  for  in  Spain,  if  one  cannot  be  a  bull- 
fighter, it  is  good  to  be  a  smuggler.  At  sunset  the 
great  heat  culminated  in  a  thunderstorm,  which 
drew  a  veil  of  heavy  cloud  across  the  sky,  and 
night  fell  before  its  time. 

The  horsemen  had  covered  two  thirds  of  their 
journey,  when  he  whom  they  followed  came  in 
sight  of  the  lights  of  Toledo,  set  upon  a  rock,  like 
the  jewels  in  a  lady's  cluster  ring,  and  almost  sur- 
rounded by  the  swift  Tagus.  Conyngham's  horse 
was  tired,  and  stumbled  more  than  once  on  the 
hill  by  which  the  traveller  descends  to  the  great 
bridge  and  the  gate  that  Wamba  built  thirteen 
hundred  years  ago. 

Through  this  gate  he  passed  into  the  city,  which 
was  a  city  of  the  dead,  with  its  hundred  ruined 
churches,  its  empty  palaces,  and  silent  streets. 
Ichabod  is  written  large  over  all  these  tokens  of 
a  bygone  glory  —  where  the  Jews,  flying  from 
Jerusalem,  first  set  foot ;  where  the  Moor  reigned 
unmolested  for  nearly  four  hundred  years  ;  where 
the  Goth  and  the  Roman  and  the  great  Spaniard 
of  the  middle  ages  have  trod  on  each  other's  heels. 
Truly,  these  worn  stones  have  seen  the  greatness 
of  the  greatest  nations  of  the  world. 

A  single  lamp  hung  slowly  swinging  in  the  arch 
of  Wamba's  Gate,  and  the  streets  were  but    ill- 


212  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

lighted  with  an  oil  lantern  at  an  occasional  corner. 
Conyngham  had  been  in  Toledo  before,  and  knew 
his  way  to  the  inn  under  the  shadow  of  the  great 
Alcazar,  now  burnt  and  ruined.  Here  he  left  his 
horse,  for  the  streets  of  Toledo  are  so  narrow  and 
tortuous,  so  ill-paven  and  steep,  that  wheel  traffic  is 
almost  unknown,  while  a  horse  can  with  difficulty 
keep  his  feet  on  the  rounded  cobble-stones.  In  this 
city  men  go  about  their  business  on  foot,  which 
makes  the  streets  as  silent  as  the  deserted  houses. 

Julia  had  selected  a  spot  which  was  easy  enough 
to  find,  and  Conyngham,  having  supped,  made  his 
way  thither,  without  asking  for  directions. 

"  It  is,  at  all  events,  worth  trying,"  he  said  to  him- 
self; "and  she  can  scarcely  have  forgotten  that  I 
saved  her  life  on  the  Garonne,  as  well  as  at  Ronda." 

But  there  is  often  in  a  woman's  life  one  man 
who  can  make  her  forget  all.  The  streets  were 
deserted,  for  it  was  a  cold  night,  and  the  cafes 
were  carefully  closed  against  the  damp  air.  No 
one  stirred  in  the  Calle  Pedro  Martir,  and  Con- 
yngham peered  into  the  shadow  of  the  high  wall 
of  the  Church  of  Santa  Tome  in  vain.  Then  he 
heard  the  soft  tread  of  muffled  feet,  and  turning 
on  his  heel  charged  to  meet  the  charge  of  his  two 
assailants.  Two  of  them  went  down  like  felled 
trees,  but  there  were  others  —  four  others  —  who 
fell  on  him  silently,  like  hounds  upon  a  fox,  and  in 
a  few  moments  all  was  quiet  again  in  the  Calle 
Pedro  Martir. 


CHAPTER   XX 

ON    THE    TALAVERA    ROAD 

"  Les  barrieres  servent  a  indiquer  oil  il  faut  passer." 

An  hour's  ride  to  the  west  of  Toledo,  on  the  road 
to  Torrijos  and  Talavera,  and  in  the  immediate 
neighbourhood  of  the  villages  of  Galvez,  two  men 
sat  in  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  and  played 
cards.  They  played  quietly  and  without  vocifera- 
tion, illustrating  the  advantages  of  a  minute  coinage. 
They  had  gambled  with  varying  fortune  since  the 
hour  of  the  siesta,  and  a  sprinkling  of  cigarette- 
ends  on  the  bare  rocks  around  them  testified  to  the 
indulgence  of  a  kindred  vice. 

The  elder  of  the  two  men  glanced  from  time  to 
time  over  his  shoulder,  and  down  toward  the  dusty 
high  road,  which  lay  across  the  arid  plain  beneath 
them  like  a  tape.  The  country  here  is  barren 
and  stone-ridden,  but  to  the  west,  where  Torrijos 
gleamed  on  the  plain,  the  earth  was  green  with 
the  bush  corn  and  heavy  blades  of  the  maize  now 
springing  into  ear.  Where  these  two  soldiers  sat 
the  herbage  was  scant  and  of  an  aromatic  scent,  as 
it  mostly  is  in  hot  countries  and  in  rocky  places. 
That  these  men  belonged  to  a  mounted  branch  of 


2i4  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

the  service  was  evident  from  their  equipment,  and 
notably  from  the  great  rusty  spurs  at  their  heels. 
They  were  clad  in  cotton  —  dusty  white  breeches, 
dusty  blue  tunics  —  a  sort  of  undress  tempered  by 
the  vicissitudes  of  a  long  war  and  the  laxity  of  dis- 
cipline engendered  by  political  trouble  at  home. 

They  had  left  their  horses  in  the  stable  of  a 
venta,  hidden  among  ilex-trees  by  the  roadside,  and 
had  clambered  to  this  point  of  vantage  above  the 
highway  to  pass  the  afternoon  after  the  manner  of 
their  race,  for  the  Spaniard  will  be  found  playing 
cards  amid  the  wreck  of  the  world  and  in  the 
intervals  between  the  stupendous  events  of  the 
last  day. 

"  He  comes,"  said  the  older  man  at  length,  as  he 
leisurely  shuffled  the  greasy  cards ;  "  I  hear  his 
horse's  feet." 

And,  indeed,  the  great  silence  which  seems  to 
brood  over  the  uplands  of  Spain —  the  silence,  as 
it  were,  of  an  historic  past  and  a  dead  present  — 
was  broken  by  the  distant  regular  beat  of  hoofs. 

The  trooper  who  had  spoken  was  a  bullet- 
headed  Castilian,  with  square  jaws  and  close-set  eyes. 
His  companion,  a  younger  man,  merely  nodded  his 
head,  and  studied  the  cards  which  had  just  been 
dealt  to  him.  The  game  progressed,  and  Concep- 
cion  Vara,  on  the  Toledo  road,  approached  at  a 
steady  trot.  This  man  showed  to  greater  advan- 
tage on  horseback  and  beneath  God's  open  sky 
than  in  the  streets  of  a  city.     Here,  on  the  open 


ON    THE    TALAVERA    ROAD     215 

and  among  the  mountains,  he  held  his  head  erect 
and  faced  the  world,  ready  to  hold  his  own  against 
it.  In  the  streets  he  wore  a  furtive  air,  and 
glanced  from  left  to  right,  fearing  recognition. 

He  now  took  his  tired  horse  to  the  stable  of 
the  little  venta,  where,  with  his  usual  gallantry,  he 
assisted  a  hideous  old  hag  to  find  a  place  in  the 
stalls.  While  uttering  a  gay  compliment  he  deftly 
secured  for  his  mount  a  feed  of  corn  which  was 
much  in  excess  of  that  usually  provided  for  the 
money. 

"  Ah !  "  he  said,  as  he  tipped  the  measure,  "  I 
can  always  tell  when  a  woman  has  been  pretty  ; 
but  with  you,  seiiora,  no  such  knowledge  is 
required.  You  will  have  your  beauty  for  many 
years  yet." 

Thus  Vara  and  his  horse  fared  ever  well  upon 
the  road.  He  lingered  at  the  stable-door,  know- 
ing that  corn  poured  into  the  manger  may  yet  find 
its  way  back  to  the  bin,  and  then  turned  his  steps 
toward  the  mountain. 

The  cards  were  still  falling  with  a  whispering 
sound  upon  the  rock  selected  as  a  table,  and  with 
the  spirit  of  a  true  sportsman  Concepcion  waited 
until  the  hand  was  played  out  before  imparting 
his  news. 

"  It  is  well,"  he  said  at  length.  "  A  carriage 
has  been  ordered  from  a  friend  of  mine  in  Toledo 
to  take  the  road  to-night  to  Talavera,  and  Talavera 
is  on  the  way  to  Lisbon.     What  did  I  tell  you  ?  " 


2i6  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

The  two  soldiers  nodded.  One  was  counting 
his  gains,  which  amounted  to  almost  threepence. 
The  loser  wore  a  brave  air  of  indifference,  as 
behooved  a  reckless  soldier,  taking  loss  or  gain 
in  a  Spartan  spirit. 

"  There  will  be  six  men,"  continued  Concep- 
cion  —  "  two  on  horseback,  two  on  the  box,  two 
inside  the  carriage  with  their  prisoner,  my  friend." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  younger  soldier,  thoughtfully. 

Concepcion  looked  at  him. 

"  What  have  you  in  your  mind  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  was  wondering  how  three  men  could  best 
kill  six." 

"  Out  of  six,"  said  the  older  man,  "  there  is 
always  one  who  runs  away.  I  have  found  it  so 
in  my  experience." 

"  And  of  five  there  is  always  one  who  cannot 
use  his  knife,"  added  Concepcion. 

Still  the  younger  soldier,  who  had  medals  all 
across  his  chest,  shook  his  head. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  said  —  "I  am  always  afraid 
before  I  fight." 

Concepcion  looked  at  the  man  whom  General 
Vincente  had  selected  from  a  brigade  of  tried 
soldiers,  and  gave  a  little  upward  jerk  of  the 
head. 

"  With  me,"  he  said,  "  it  is  afterward,  when 
all  is  over.  Then  my  hand  shakes  and  the  wet 
trickles  down  my  face." 

He  laughed  and  spread  out  his  hands. 


ON    THE   TALAVERA    ROAD     217 

"  And  yet,"  he  said  gaily,  "  it  is  the  best  game 
of  all ;  is  it  not  so  ?  " 

The  troopers  shrugged  their  shoulders.  One 
may   have  too  much  of  even  the   best  game. 

"  The  carriage  is  ordered  for  eight  o'clock," 
continued  the  practical  Concepcion,  rolling  a  cig- 
arette, which  he  placed  behind  his  ear,  where  a 
clerk  would  carry  his  pen.  "  Those  who  take  the 
road  when  the  night  birds  come  abroad  have  some- 
thing to  hide.  We  will  see  what  they  have  in 
their  carriage — eh?  The  horses  are  tired  for 
the  journey  to  Galvez,  where  a  relay  is  doubtless 
ordered.  It  will  be  a  fine  night  for  a  journey. 
There  is  a  half  moon,  which  is  better  than  the 
full  for  those  who  use  the  knife;  but  the  Galvez 
horses  will  not  be  required,  I  think." 

The  younger  soldier,  upon  whose  shoulder 
gleamed  the  stars  of  a  rapid  promotion,  looked  up 
to  the  sky,  where  a  few  fleecy  clouds  were  begin- 
ning to  gather  above  the  setting  sun,  like  sheep 
about  a  gate. 

"  A  half  moon  for  the  knife  and  a  full  moon  for 
firearms,"  he  said. 

"  Yes  ;  and  they  will  shoot  quick  enough  if  we 
give  them  the  chance,"  said  Concepcion.  "  They 
are  Carlists  !  There  is  a  river  between  this  and 
Galvez,  a  little  stream,  such  as  we  have  in  Anda- 
lusia, so  small  that  there  is  only  a  ford  and  no 
bridge.  The  bed  of  the  river  is  soft.  The  horses 
will  stop,  or,  at  all  events,  must  go  at  the  walking 


218  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

pace.  Across  the  stream  are  a  few  trees  .  .  ." 
he  paused,  illustrating  his  description  with  rapid 
gestures  and  an  imaginary  diagram  drawn  upon 
the  rock  with  the  forefinger  ..."  ilex,  and  here, 
to  the  left,  some  pines.  The  stream  runs  thus 
from  northeast  to  southwest.  This  bank  is  high, 
and  over  here  are  low-lying  meadows,  where  pigs 
feed." 

He  looked  up,  and  the  two  soldiers  nodded. 
The  position  lay  before  them  like  a  bird's  eye 
view,  and  Concepcion,  in  whom  Spain  had  perhaps 
lost  a  guerilla  general,  had  only  set  eyes  on  the 
spot  once  as  he  rode  past  it. 

"  This  matter  is  best  settled  on  foot ;  is  it  not 
so  ?  We  cross  the  stream  and  tie  our  horses  to 
the  pine-trees.  I  will  recross  the  water,  and  come 
back  to  meet  the  carriage  at  the  top  of  the  hill  — 
here.  The  horsemen  will  be  in  advance.  We 
will  allow  them  to  cross  the  stream.  The  horses 
will  come  out  of  the  water  slowly,  or  I  know  noth- 
ing of  horses.  As  they  step  up  the  incline  you 
take  them,  and  remember  to  give  them  the  chance 
of  running  away.  In  midstream  I  will  attack  the 
two  on  the  box,  pulling  him  who  is  not  driving 
into  the  water  by  his  legs,  and  giving  him  the 
blade  in  the  right  shoulder  above  the  lung.  He 
will  think  himself  dead,  but  should  recover.  Then 
you  must  join  me.  We  shall  be  three  to  three, 
unless  the  Englishman's  hands  are  loose,  then  we 
shall  be  four  to  three,  and  need  do  no  man  any 


ON   THE   TALAVERA   ROAD      219 

injury.     The  Englishman  is  as  strong  as  two,  and 
quick  with  it  as  big  men  rarely  are." 

"  Do  you  take  a  hand  ? "  asked  the  Castilian, 
fingering  the  cards. 

"  No  ;  I  have  affairs.      Continue  your  game." 

So  the  sun  went  down,  and  the  two  soldiers  con- 
tinued their  game,  while  Concepcion  sat  beside 
them  and  slowly,  lovingly  sharpened  his  knife  on 
a  piece  of  slate,  which  he  carried  in  his  pocket  for 
the  purpose. 

After  sunset  there  usually  arises  a  cold  breeze, 
which  blows  across  the  tablelands  of  Castile  quite 
gently  and  unobtrusively.  A  local  proverb  says 
of  this  wind  that  it  will  extinguish  a  man,  but  not 
a  candle.  When  this  arose  the  three  men  de- 
scended the  mountain-side,  and  sat  down  to  a  sim- 
ple, if  highly  flavoured  meal,  provided  by  the 
ancient  mistress  of  the  venta.  At  half-past  eight, 
when  there  remained  nothing  of  the  day  but  a 
faint,  greenish  light  in  the  western  sky,  the  little 
party  mounted  their  horses  and  rode  away  toward 
Galvez. 

"  It 's  better,"  said  Concepcion,  with  a  meaning 
and  gallant  bow  to  the  hostess  — -  "  it 's  for  my 
peace  of  mind.     I  am  but  a  man." 

Then  he  haggled  over  the  price  of  the  supper. 

They  rode  forward  to  the  ford  described  by 
Concepcion,  and  there  made  their  preparations 
carefully  and  coolly,  as  men  recognising  the  odds 
against  them.     The  half  moon  was  just  rising  as 


220  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

the  soldiers  plashed  through  the  water,  leading 
Concepcion's  horse,  he  remaining  on  the  Toledo 
side  of  the  river. 

"  The  saints  protect  us  !  "  said  the  nervous 
soldier,  and  his  hand  shook  on  the  bridle.  His 
companion  smiled  at  the  recollection  of  former 
fights  passed  through  together.  It  is  well,  in  love 
and   war,  to  beware   of  him  who  is   afraid. 

Shortly  after  nine  o'clock  the  silence  of  that 
deserted  plain  was  broken  by  a  distant  murmur, 
which  presently  shaped  itself  into  the  beat  of 
horses'  feet.  To  this  was  added  soon  the  rumble 
of  wheels.  The  elder  soldier  put  a  whole  cigar- 
ette into  his  mouth  and  chewed  it ;  the  younger 
man  made  no  movement  now.  They  crouched 
low  at  their  posts,  one  on  each  side  of  the  ford. 
Concepcion  was  across  the  river,  but  they  could 
not  see  him.  In  Andalusia  they  say  that  a  con- 
trabandist can  conceal  himself  behind  half  a  brick. 

The  two  riders  were  well  in  front  of  the  car- 
riage, and,  as  had  been  foreseen,  the  horses  lin- 
gered on  the  rise  of  the  bank,  as  if  reluctant  to 
leave  the  water  without  having  tasted  it.  In  a 
moment  the  younger  soldier  had  his  man  out  of 
the  saddle,  raising  his  own  knee  sharply  as  the  man 
fell,  so  that  the  falling  head  and  the  lifted  knee 
came  into  deadly  contact.  It  was  a  trick  well 
known  to  the  trooper,  who  let  the  insensible  form 
roll  to  the  ground,  and  immediately  darted  down 
the  bank  to   the  stream.     The  other  soldier  was 


ON   THE   TALAVERA    ROAD     221 

chasing  his  opponent  up  the  hill,  shelling  him  as 
he  rode  away  with  oaths  and  stones  prepared  for 
the  mending  of  the  road. 

In  mid-stream  the  clumsy  travelling  carriage 
had  come  to  a  standstill.  The  driver  on  the  box, 
having  cast  down  his  reins,  was  engaged  in  implor- 
ing the  assistance  of  a  black-letter  saint,  upon 
which  assistance  he  did  not  hesitate  to  put  a  price 
in  candles.  There  was  a  scurrying  in  the  water, 
which  was  about  two  feet  deep,  where  Concepcion 
was  settling  accounts  with  the  man  who  had  been 
seated  by  the  driver's  side.  A  half-choked  scream 
of  pain  appeared  to  indicate  that  Concepcion  had 
found  the  spot  he  sought,  above  the  right  lung, 
and  that  amiable  smuggler  now  rose  dripping  from 
the  flood  and  hurried  to  the  carriage. 

"  Conyngham  !  "  he  shouted,  laying  aside  that 
ceremony  upon  which  he  never  set  great  store. 

"  Yes,"  answered  a  voice  from  within.  "  Is 
that  you,  Concepcion  ?  " 

"Of  course;  throw  them  out." 

"  But  the  door  is  locked,"  answered  Conyngham, 
in  a  muffled  voice,  and  the  carriage  began  to  rock 
and  crack  upon  its  springs  as  if  an  earthquake 
were  taking  place  inside  it. 

"The  window  is  good  enough  for  such  rub- 
bish," said  Concepcion.  As  he  spoke  a  man, 
violently  propelled  from  within,  came  head  fore- 
most, and  most  blasphemously  vociferous  into 
Concepcion's  arms,  who  immediately  and  with  the 


222  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

rapidity  of  a  terrier  had  him  by  the  throat  and 
forced  him  under  water. 

"You  have  hold  of  my  leg  —  you  on  the  other 
side ! "  shouted  Conyngham,  from  the  turmoil 
within. 

"  A  thousand  pardons,  senor  !  "  said  the  soldier, 
and  took  a  new  grip  of  another  limb. 

Concepcion,  holding  his  man  under  water,  heard 
the  sharp  crack  of  another  head  upon  the  soldier's 
knee-cap,  and  knew  that  all  was  well. 

"  That  is  all  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  That  is  all,"  replied  the  soldier,  who  did  not 
seem  at  all  nervous  now ;  "  and  we  have  killed  no 
one." 

"  Put  a  knife  into  that  son  of  a  mule  who  prays 
upon  the  box  there,"  said  Concepcion,  judicially. 
"This  is  no  time  for  prayer — just  where  the 
neck  joins  the  shoulder — that  is  a  good  place." 

And  a  sudden  silence  reigned  upon  the  box. 

"  Pull  the  carriage  to  the  bank  !  "  commanded 
Concepcion.  "  There  is  no  need  for  the  English 
excellency  to  wet  his  feet ;  he  might  catch  a 
cold." 

They  all  made  their  way  to  the  bank,  where, 
in  the  dim  moonlight,  one  man  sat.  nursing  his 
shoulder,  while  another  lay,  at  length,  quite  still, 
upon  the  pebbles.  The  young  soldier  laid  a 
second  victim  to  the  same  deadly  trick  beside  him, 
while  Concepcion  patted  his  foe  kindly  on  the 
back. 


ON    THE    TALAVERA    ROAD      223 

"It  is  well,"  he  said,  "you  have  swallowed 
water.  You  will  be  sick,  and  then  you  will  be 
well.  But  if  you  move  from  that  spot  I  will  let 
the  water  out  another  way." 

And  laughing  pleasantly  at  this  delicate  display 
of  humour,  he  turned  to  help  Conyngham,  who 
was  clambering  out  of  the  carriage  window. 

"  My  hands  are  tied,"  said  the  Englishman. 
"  Where  is  your  knife  ?  " 

The  operation  took  some  little  time,  though 
Concepcion's  hand  was  steady  enough,  for  the 
straps  were  thick  and  the  light  of  the  moon  but 
feeble. 

"  Whom  have  you  with  you  ?  "  asked  Conyng- 
ham. 

"  Two  honest  soldiers  of  General  Vincente's 
division.      You  see,  senor,  you  have  good  friends." 

"  Yes,  I  see  that." 

"  One  of  them,"  said  Concepcion,  meaningly, 
"  is  at  Toledo  at  the  moment  journeying  after 
you." 

«  Ah !  " 

"  The  Senor  Pleydell." 

"  Then  we  will  go  back  to  meet  him." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Concepcion. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

A    CROSS-EXAMINATION 
"  Wherein  I  am  false  I  am  honest,  not  true  to  be  true." 

" 1  will  sing  you  a  contrabandhta  song,"  said 
Concepcion,  as  the  party  rode  toward  Toledo  in 
the  moonlight.  "The  song  we  —  they  sing  when 
the  venture  has  been  successful.  You  may  hear 
it  any  dark  night  in  the  streets  of  Gaucin." 

"  Sing,"  said  the  older  soldier,  "  if  it  is  in  your 
lungs ;   for  us,  we  prefer  to  travel  silent." 

Conyngham,  mounted  on  the  horse  from  which 
the  Carlist  rider  had  been  dragged  unceremoniously 
enough,  rode  a  few  paces  in  front.  The  carriage 
had  been  left  behind  at  the  venta^  where  no  ques- 
tions were  asked  and  the  injured  men  received 
readily  enough. 

"  It  is  well,"  answered  Concepcion,  in  no  way 
abashed.  "  I  will  sing.  In  Andalusia  we  can  all 
sing.  The  pigs  sing  better  there  than  the  men  of 
Castile." 

It  was  after  midnight  when  the  party  rode  past 
the  church  of  the  Cristo  de  la  Vega,  and  faced  the 
long  hill  that  leads  to  the  gate  Del  Cambron. 
Above  them  towered  the  city  of  Toledo,  silent  and 
dream-like.      Concepcion  had  ceased  singing  now, 


A   CROSS-EXAMINATION         225 

and  the  hard  breathing  of  the  horses  alone  broke 
the  silence.  The  Tagus,  emerging  here  from 
rocky  fastness,  flowed  noiselessly  away  to  the  west, 
a  gleaming  ribbon  laid  across  the  breast  of  the 
night.  In  the  summer  it  is  no  uncommon  thing 
for  travellers  to  take  the  road  by  night  in  Spain, 
and  although  many  doubtless  heard  the  clatter  of 
horses'  feet  on  the  polished  cobble-stones  of  the 
city,  none  rose  from  bed  to  watch  the  horsemen 
pass. 

At  that  time  Toledo  possessed,  and,  indeed,  to 
the  present  day  can  boast  of  but  one  good  inn,  a 
picturesque  old  house  in  the  Plaza  de  Zocodover, 
overhung  by  the  mighty  Alcazar.  Here  Cer- 
vantes must  have  eaten  and  Lazarillo  de  Tormes, 
no  doubt,  caroused.  Here  those  melancholy  men 
and  mighty  humourists  must  have  delighted  the 
idler  by  their  talk.  Concepcion  soon  aroused  the 
sleepy  porter,  and  the  great  doors  being  thrown 
open,  the  party  passed  into  the  courtyard  without 
quitting  the  saddle. 

"  It  is,"  said  Concepcion,  "  an  English  excel- 
lency and  his  suite." 

u  We  have  another  such  in  the  house,"  an- 
swered the  sleepy  doorkeeper,  "  though  he  travels 
with  but  one  servant." 

"  We  know  that,  my  friend,  which  is  the  reason 
why  we  patronised  your  dog-hole  of  an  inn.  See 
that  the  two  excellencies  breakfast  together  at  a 
table  apart  in  the  morning." 

*5 


226  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  You  will  have  matters  to  speak  about  with  the 
Senor  Pleydell  in  the  morning  ?  "  said  Concepcion, 
as  he  unpacked  Conyngham's  luggage  a  few 
minutes  later. 

"  Yes ;  I  should  like  to  speak  to  Senor  Pleydell." 

"  And  I,"  said  Concepcion,  turning  round  with 
a  brush  in  his  hand,  "  should  like  a  moment's  con- 
versation with  Senor  Larralde." 

«  Ah  !  " 

"  Yes,  excellency ;  he  is  in  this  matter,  too. 
But  the  Senor  Larralde  is  so  modest  — so  modest! 
He  always  remains  in  the  background." 

In  the  tents  of  Kedar  men  sleep  as  sound  as 
those  who  lie  on  soft  pillows,  and  Conyngham  was 
late  astir  the  next  morning.  Sir  John  Pleydell 
was,  it  transpired,  already  at  his  breakfast,  and  had 
ordered  his  carriage  for  an  early  hour  to  take  the 
road  to  Talavera.  It  was  thus  evident  that  Sir 
John  knew  nothing  of  the  arrival  of  his  fellow- 
countryman  at  midnight. 

The  cold  face  of  the  great  lawyer  wore  a  look 
of  satisfaction  as  he  sat  at  a  small  table  in  the  patio 
of  the  hotel  and  drank  his  coffee.  Conyngham 
watched  him  for  a  moment  from  the  balcony  of 
the  courtyard,  himself  unseen,  while  Concepcion 
stood  within  his  master's  bedroom  and  rubbed  his 
brown  hands  together  in  anticipation  of  a  dramatic 
moment.  Conyngham  passed  down  the  stone 
steps  and  crossed  the  patio  with  a  gay  smile.  Sir 
John  recognised  him  as  he  emerged  from  the  dark- 


A    CROSS-EXAMINATION         227 

ness  of  the. stairway,  but  his  face  betrayed  neither 
surprise  nor  fear.  There  was  a  look  in  the  gray 
eyes,  however,  that  seemed  to  betoken  doubt. 
Such  a  look  a  man  might  wear  who  had  long  trav- 
elled with  assurance  upon  a  road  which  he  took 
to  be  the  right  one,  and  then  at  a  turning  found 
himself  in  a  strange  country  with  no  landmark  to 
guide  him. 

Sir  John  Pleydell  had  always  outwitted  his 
fellows;  he  had,  in  fact,  been  what  is  called  a 
successful  man  —  a  little  cleverer,  a  little  more 
cunning  than  those  around  him. 

He  looked  up  now  at  Conyngham,  who  was 
drawing  forward  a  chair  to  the  neighbouring  table, 
and  the  cold  eye,  which  had  been  the  dread  of 
many  a  criminal,  wavered. 

"  The  waiter  has  set  my  breakfast  near  to  yours," 
said  Conyngham,  unconcernedly  seating  himself. 

And  Concepcion,  in  the  balcony  above,  cursed 
the  English  for  a  cold-blooded  race.  This  was 
not  the  sort  of  meeting  he  had  anticipated.  He 
could  throw  a  knife  very  prettily,  and  gave  a  short 
sigh  of  regret  as  he  turned  to  his  peaceful  duties. 

Conyngham  examined  the  simple  fare  provided 
for  him,  and  then  looked  toward  his  companion 
with  that  cheerfulness  which  is  too  rare  in  this 
world,  for  it  is  born  of  a  great  courage,  and  out- 
ward circumstances  cannot  affect  it.  Sir  John 
Pleydell  had  lost  all  interest  in  his  meal,  and  was 
looking    keenly    at  Conyngham,   dissecting,   as  it 


228  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

were,  his  face,  probing  his  mind,  searching  through 
the  outward  manner  of  the  man,  and  running 
helplessly  against  a  motive  which  he  failed  to 
understand. 

" 1  have  in  my  long  experience  found  that  all 
men  may  be  divided  into  two  classes,"  he  said 
acidly. 

"  Fools  and  knaves,"  suggested  Conyngham. 

"  You  have  practised  at  the  bar,"  parenthetically. 

Conyngham  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Unsuccessfully  ;  anybody  can  do  that." 

"  Which  are  you,  a  fool  or  a  knave?"  asked  Sir 
John. 

And  suddenly  Conyngham  pitied  him,  for  no 
man  is  proof  against  the  quick  sense  of  pathos 
aroused  by  the  sight  of  man  or  dumb  animal  baf- 
fled. At  the  end  of  his  life  Sir  John  had  engaged 
upon  the  greatest  quest  of  it  — an  unworthy  quest, 
no  doubt,  but  his  heart  was  in  it  —  and  he  was  an 
old  man,  though  he  bore  his  years  well  enough. 

"  Perhaps  that  is  the  mistake  you  have  always 
made,"  said  Conyngham,  gravely.  u  Perhaps  men 
are  not  to  be  divided  into  two  classes.  There  may 
be  some  who  only  make  mistakes,  Sir  John." 

Unconsciously  he  had  lapsed  into  the  advocate, 
as  those  who  have  once  played  the  part  are  apt  to 
do.  This  was  not  his  own  cause,  but  Geoffrey 
Horner's  ;  and  he  served  his  friend  so  thoroughly, 
that  for  the  moment  he  really  was  the  man  whose 
part  he  had  elected  to  play.      Sir  John  Pleydell  was 


A   CROSS-EXAMINATION         229 

no  mean  .  foe.  Geoffrey  Horner  had  succeeded 
in  turning  aside  the  public  suspicion,  and  in  the 
eternal  march  of  events,  of  which  the  sound  is 
louder  as  the  world  grows  older  and  hollower,  the 
murder  of  Alfred  Pleydell  had  been  forgotten  by  all 
save  this  cold-blooded  avenger.  Conyngham  saw 
the  danger,  and  never  thought  to  avoid  it.  What 
had  been  undertaken  half  in  jest  would  be  carried 
out  in  deadly  earnest. 

"  Mistakes  !  "  said  Sir  John,  sceptically.  In 
dealing  with  the  seamy  side  of  life  men  come  to 
believe  that  it  is  all  stitches. 

"  Which  they  may  pass  the  rest  of  their  lives  in 
regretting." 

Sir  John  looked  sharply  at  his  companion,  with 
suspicion  dawning  in  his  eyes  again.  It  was  Con- 
yngham's  tendency  to  overplay  his  part.  Later, 
when  he  became  a  soldier,  and  found  that  path  in 
life  for  which  he  was  best  fitted,  his  superior  offi- 
cers and  the  cooler  tacticians  complained  that  he 
was  over-eager  and  in  battle  outpaced  the  men 
he  led. 

"  Then  you  see  now  that  it  was  a  mistake," 
suggested  Sir  John.  In  cross-examinations  the 
suggestions  of  Sir  John  Pleydell  are  remembered 
in  certain  courts  of  justice  to  this  day. 

"Of  course." 

"  To  have  mixed  yourself  in  such  an  affair 
at  all  ?  " 

«  Yes." 


707 


230  7  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

Sir  John  seemed  to  be  softening,  and  Conyngham 
began  to  see  a  way  out  of  this  difficulty  which  had 
never  suggested  itself"  to  him  before. 

DO 

"  Such  mistakes  have  to  be  paid  for,  and  the  law 
assesses  the  price." 

Conyngham  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  It  is  easy  enough  to  say  you  are  sorry  ;  the 
law  can  make  no  allowance  for  regret." 

Conyngham  turned  his  attention  to  his  breakfast, 
deeming  it  useless  to  continue  the  topic. 

"  It  was  a  mistake  to  attend  the  meeting  at 
Durham  ;  you  admit  that,"  continued  Sir  John. 

"  Yes  ;  I  admit  that,  if  it  is  any  satisfaction  to 
you." 

"  Then  it  was  worse  than  a  mistake  to  actually 
lead  the  men  out  to  my  house  for  the  purpose  of 
breaking  the  windows.  It  was  almost  a  crime,  I 
would  suggest  to  you  as  a  soldier,  for  the  moment, 
to  lead  a  charge  up  a  steep  hill  against  a  body  of 
farm  labourers  and  others  entrenched  behind  a 
railing." 

"  That  is  a  mere  matter  of  opinion." 

"  And  yet  you  did  that,"  said  Sir  John.  "  If 
you  are  going  to  break  the  law,  you  should  ensure 
success  before  embarking  on  your  undertaking." 

Conyngham  made  no  answer. 

"  It  was  also  a  stupid  error,  if  I  may  say  so,  to 
make  your  way  back  to  Durham  by  Ravensworth, 
where  you  were  seen  and  recognised.  You  see,  I 
have  a  good  case  against  you,  Mr.  Conyngham." 


A    CROSS-EXAMINATION         231 

"  Yes,  I  admit  you  have  a  good  case  against  me, 
but  you  have  not  caught  me  yet." 

Sir  John  Pleydell  looked  at  him  coldly. 
"  You  do  not  even  take  the  trouble  to  deny  the 
facts  I  have  named." 

"  Why  should  I  when  they  are  true  ?  "  asked 
Conyngham,   carelessly. 

Sir  John  Pleydell  leant  back  in  his  chair. 
"  I  have  classified  you,"  he  said  with  a  queer 
laugh. 

"  Ah  !  "  answered  Conyngham,  suddenly  uneasy. 
"  Yes  —  as  a  fool." 

He  leant  forward  with  a  deprecating  gesture  of 
his  thin  white  hand. 

"  Do  not  be  offended,"  he  said,  "  and  do  not 

reproach  yourself  for  having  given  your  case  away. 

You  never  had  a  case,  Mr.  Conyngham.     Chartists 

are  not  made  of  your  material  at  all.      As  soon  as 

you  gave  me  your  card  in   Madrid  I  had  a  slight 

suspicion.      I  thought  you  were  travelling  under  a 

false  name.      It  was  plain  to  the  merest  onlooker 

that    you  were   not   the  man  I    sought.     You  are 

too  easy-going,  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  be  a 

Chartist.     You  are  screening  somebody  else.     You 

have  played  the  part  well,  and  with  an  admirable 

courage  and  fidelity.     I  wish   my  boy  Alfred  had 

had   a    few  such   friends   as   you.      But  you  are  a 

fool,  Mr.  Conyngham.     No  man  on  earth  is  worth 

the  sacrifice  that  you  have  made." 

Conyngham  slowly  stirred  his  coffee.      He  was 
meditating. 


232  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  You  have  pieced  together  a  very  pretty  tale," 
he  said  at  length,  "  some  new  scheme  to  get  me 
within  the  reach  of  the  English  law,  no  doubt." 

"  It  is  a  pretty  tale,  too  pretty  for  practical  life. 
And  if  you  want  proofs,  I  will  mention  the  fact 
that  the  Chartist  meeting  was  at  Chester-le-Street, 
not  Durham;  that  my  house  stands  in  a  hollow 
and  not  on  a  hill ;  that  you  could  not  possibly 
go  to  Durham  via  Ravensworth,  for  they  lie  in  op- 
posite directions.  No,  Mr.  Conyngham,  you  are 
not  the  man  I  seek  ;  and,  strange  to  say,  I  took  a 
liking  to  you  when  I  first  saw  you.  I  am  no 
believer  in  instinct,  or  mutual  sympathy,  or  any 
such  sentimental  nonsense.  I  do  not  believe  in 
much,  Mr.  Conyngham,  and  not  in  human  nature 
at  all.  I  know  too  much  about  it  for  that.  But 
there  must  have  been  something  in  that  liking  for 
you  at  first  sight.  I  wish  you  no  harm,  Mr.  Con- 
yngham. I  am  like  Balaam.  I  came  to  curse, 
and  now  stay  to  bless ;  or  perhaps  I  am  more 
like  Balaam's  companion  and  adviser  —  I  bray  too 
much." 

He  sat  back  again  with  a  queer  smile. 

"  You  may  go  home  to  England  to-morrow  if 
you  care  to,"  he  added,  after  a  pause ;  "  and  if 
that  affair  is  ever  raked  up  against  you,  I  will 
be  your  friend,  if  you  will  have  me." 

«  Thank  you." 

"You  do  not  want  to  go  home  to  England," 
suggested  Sir  John,  whose  ear  was  as  quick  as 
his  eye. 


A   CROSS-EXAMINATION         233 

"  No  ;   I  have  affairs  in  Spain." 

"  Or  perhaps  a  castle  here.  Beware  of  such  ; 
I  once  had  one." 

And  the  cold,  gray  face  softened  for  an  instant. 
It  seemed  at  times  as  if  there  were,  after  all,  a 
man  behind  that  marbie  casing. 

"A  man  who  can  secure  such  friendship  as 
yours  has  proved  itself  to  be,"  said  Sir  John,  after 
a  short  silence,  "  can  scarcely  be  wholly  bad.  He 
may,  as  you  say,  have  made  a  mistake.  I  promise 
nothing,  but  perhaps  I  will  make  no  further  at- 
tempts to  find  him." 

Conyngham  was  silent.     To  speak  would  have 

been  to  admit. 

"  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  said  Sir  John, 
rising,  "  you  are  safe  in  this  or  any  country.  But, 
I  warn  you,  you  have  a  dangerous  enemy  in  Spain." 

"  I  know,"  answered  Conyngham,  with  a  laugh 

"Mr.  Esteban  Larralde.     I  once  undertook  to 

deliver  a  letter  for  him.  It  was  not  what  he  repre- 
sented it  to  be,  and  after  I  had  delivered  it  he 
began  to  suspect  me  of  having  read  it.  He  is  kind 
enough  to  consider  me  of  some  importance  in  the 
politics  of  this  country,  owing  to  the  information  I 
am  supposed  to  possess.  I  know  nothing  of  the 
contents  of  the  letter,  but  I  want  to  regain  it  —  if 
only  for  a  few  moments.  That  is  the  whole  story, 
and  that  is  how  matters  stand  between  Larralde 
and  myself." 


CHAPTER   XXII 


REPARATION 


"  II  s'en  faut  bien  que  1'  innocence  trouve  autant  de  pro- 
tection que  le  crime." 

For  those  minded  to  leave  Spain  at  this  time  there 
was  but  one  route  —  namely,  the  south,  for  the 
northern  exits  were  closed  by  the  Carlists,  still  in 
power  there,  though  waning  fast.  Indeed,  Don 
Carlos  was  now  illustrating  the  fact,  which  any 
may  learn  by  the  study  of  the  world's  history,  that 
it  is  not  the  great  causes,  but  the  great  men  who 
have  made  and  destroyed  nations.  Nearly  half  of 
Spain  was  for  Don  Carlos.  The  Church  sided 
with  him,  and  the  best  soldiers  were  those  who, 
unpaid,  unfed,  and  half  clad,  fought  on  the  south- 
ern slopes  of  the  Pyrenees  for  a  man  who  dared 
not  lead  them. 

Sir  John  Pleydell  had  intended  crossing  the 
frontier  into  Portugal,  following  the  carriage  con- 
veying his  prisoner  to  the  seaport  of  Lisbon,  where 
he  anticipated  no  difficulty  in  finding  a  ship  cap- 
tain who  would  be  willing  to  convey  Conyngham 
to   England.     All   this,   however,  had   been  frus- 


REPARATION  235 

trated  by.  so  unimportant  a  person  as  Concepcion 
Vara,  and  the  carriage  ordered  for  nine  o'clock  to 
proceed  to  Talavera  now  stood  in  the  courtyard 
of  the  hotel,  while  the  baronet  in  his  lonely  apart- 
ment sat  and  wondered  what  he  should  do  next. 
He  had  dealt  with  justice  all  his  life,  and  had  en- 
sured it  not  from  love,  but  as  a  matter  of  con- 
science and  a  means  of  livelihood.  From  the  mere 
habit,  he  now  desired  to  do  justice  to  Conyngham. 

"  See  if  you  can  find  out  for  me  the  whereabouts 
of  General  Vincente  at  the  moment,  and  let  the 
carriage  wait,"  he  said  to  his  servant,  a  valet- 
courier  of  taciturn  habit. 

The  man  was  about  half  an  hour,  and  returned 
with  a  face  that  promised  little. 

"  There  is  a  man  in  the  hotel,  sir,"  he  said, 
"  the  servant  of  Mr.  Conyngham,  who  knows,  but 
will  not  tell  me.  I  am  told,  however,  that  a  lady 
living  in  Toledo,  a  Contessa  Barenna,  will  un- 
doubtedly have  the  information.  General  Vincente 
was  lately  in  Madrid,  but  his  movements  are  so 
rapid  and  uncertain  that  he  has  become  a  by-word 
in  Spain." 

"  So  I  understand.  I  will  call  on  this  contessa 
this  afternoon,  unless  you  can  get  the  information 
elsewhere  during  the  morning.  I  shall  not  want 
the  carriage." 

Sir  John  walked  slowly  to  the  window,  deep 
in  thought.  He  was  interested  in  Conyngham 
despite  himself.     It    is    possible    that   he   had  not 


236  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

hitherto  met  a  man  capable  of  so  far  forgetting  his 
own  interests  as  to  undertake  a  foolish  and  danger- 
ous escapade,  without  anything  in  the  nature  of 
gain  or  advantage  to  recommend  it.  The  windows 
of  the  hotel  of  the  Red  Hat,  in  Toledo,  look  out 
upon  the  market-place,  and  Sir  John,  who  was 
an  indoor  man,  and  mentally  active  enough  to  be 
intensely  bored  at  times,  frequently  used  this  oppor- 
tunity of  studying  Spanish  life. 

He  was  looking  idly  through  the  vile  panes  when 
an  old  priest  passed  by  and  glanced  up  beneath 
shaggy  brows. 

"  Seen  that  man  before,"  said  Sir  John. 

"  Ah  !  "  muttered  Father  Concha,  as  he  hurried 
on  toward  the  Palazzo  Barenna.  "  So  far,  so 
good.  Where  the  fox  is  will  be  found  the  stolen 
fowl." 

Concepcion  Vara,  who  was  saddling  his  horse 
in  the  stable-yard  of  the  inn,  saw  the  padre  pass. 

"  Ah,  clever  one  !  "  he  muttered ;  "  with  your 
jokes  about  my  wife.  Now  you  may  make  a  false 
journey  for  all  the  help  you  receive  from  me." 

And  a  few  minutes  later  Concepcion  rode  across 
the  ridge  of  Alcantara,  some  paces  behind  Conyng- 
ham,  who  deemed  it  wise  to  return  to  his  duties  at 
Madrid  without  delay. 

Despite  the  great  heat  on  the  plains,  which, 
indeed,  made  it  almost  dangerous  to  travel  at  mid- 
day, the  streets  of  Toledo  were  cool  and  shady 
enough   as   Sir    John    Pleydell   traversed    them    in 


REPARATION  237 

search  of  the  Palazzo  Barenna.  The  contessawas 
in,  and  the  Englishman  was  ushered  into  a  vast 
room,  which  even  the  taste  of  the  day  could  not 
entirely  deprive  of  its  mediaeval  grandeur.  Sir 
John  explained,  in  halting  Spanish,  that  his  name 
was  unknown  to  the  Contessa  Barenna,  but  that, 
a  stranger  in  some  slight  difficulty,  he  had  been 
recommended  to  seek  her  assistance. 

Sir  John  was  an  imposing-looking  man,  with 
that  grand  air  which  enables  some  men  not  only 
to  look,  but  to  get  over  a  wall  while  an  insignifi- 
cant wight  may  not  so  much  as  approach  the  gate. 
The  senora's  curiosity  did  the  rest.  In  a  few 
minutes  the  rustle  of  silk  made  Sir  John  turn  from 
the  contemplation  of  a  suit  of  armour. 

"  Madame  speaks  French  ?  " 

"  But  yes,  senor." 

Madame  Barenna  glanced  toward  a  chair,  which 
Sir  John  hastened  to  bring  forward.  He  despised 
her  already,  and  she  admired  his  manner  vastly. 

"  I  have  taken  the  immense  liberty  of  intruding 
myself  upon  your  notice,  madame  —  " 

"Not  to  sell  me  a  Bible?"  exclaimed  Senora 
Barenna,  with  her  fan  upheld  in  warning. 

"  A  Bible  !  I  believe  I  have  one  at  home,  in 
England,  madame,  but  —  " 

"It  is  well,"  said  madame,  sinking  back  and 
fanning  herself  rather  faintly.  "  Excuse  my  fears, 
but  there  is  an  Englishman  —  what  is  his  name,  I 
forget  —  " 


238  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  Borrow." 

"  Yes,  that  is  it  —  Borrow.  And  he  sells 
Bibles,  and  Father  Concha,  my  confessor  —  a  bear, 
but  a  holy  man,  a  holy  bear,  as  one  might  say  — 
has  forbidden  me  to  buy  one.  I  am  so  afraid  of 
disobeying  him,  by  heedlessness  or  fear  or  forgetful- 
ness.  There  are,  it  appears,  some  things  in  the 
Bible  which  one  ought  not  to  read,  and  one 
naturally  —  " 

She  finished  the  sentence  with  a  shrug  and  an 
expressive  gesture  of  the  fan. 

"  One  naturally  desires  to  read  them,"  suggested 
Sir  John  ;  "  the  privilege  of  all  Eve's  daughters, 
madame." 

Senora  Barenna  treated  the  flatterer  to  what  the 
French  call  a  fin  sourire,  and  wondered  how  long 
Julia  would  stay  away.  This  man  would  pay  her 
another  compliment  in  a  moment. 

"  I  merely  called  on  the  excuse  of  a  common 
friendship,  to  ask  if  you  can  tell  me  the  where- 
abouts of  General  Vincente,"  said  Sir  John,  stat- 
ing his  business  in  haste  and  when  the  opportunity 
presented  itself. 

"  Is  it  politics  ?  "  asked  the  lady,  with  a  hasty 
glance  round  the  room. 

"  No ;  it  is  scarcely  politics  ;  but  why  do  you 
ask  ?  You  are  surely  too  wise,  madame,  to  take 
part  in  such.  It  is  a  woman's  mission  to  please, 
and  when  it  is  so  easy  !  " 

He  waved  his  thin  white  hand  in  completion  of 


REPARATION  239 

a  suggestion  which  made  his  hearer  bridle  her  stout 
person. 

"  No,  no,"  she  whispered,  glancing  over  her 
shoulder  at  the  door  —  "no;  it  is  my  daughter. 
Ah,  senor,  you  can  scarce  imagine  what  it  is  to 
live  upon  a  volcano  !  " 

And  she  pointed  to  the  oak  floor  with  her  fan. 
Sir  John  deemed  it  wise  to  confine  his  display  of 
sympathy  to  a  glance  of  the  deepest  concern. 

"  No,"  he  said  ;  "  it  is  merely  a  personal  matter. 
I  have  a  communication  to  make  to  my  friend, 
General  Vincente,  or  to  his  daughter." 

«  To  Estella  ?  " 

"  To  the  Senorita  Estella." 

"  Do  you  think  her  beautiful  ?  Some  do,  you 
know.      Eyes,  I  admit — yes,  lovely." 

"  I  admire  the  senorita  exceedingly." 

"  Ah,  yes  —  yes  !  You  have  not  seen  my 
daughter,  have  you,  senor  ?  Julia.  She  rather 
resembles  Estella." 

The  contessa  paused  and  examined  her  fan  with 
a  careless  air. 

"  Some  say,"  she  went  on,  apparently  with  reluc- 
tance, "  that  Julia  is  —  well  —  has  some  advan- 
tages of  Estella.  But  /  do  not,  of  course.  I 
admire   Estella  excessively  —  oh,  yes  —  yes." 

And  the  senora's  dark  eyes  searched  Sir  John's  face. 
They  might  have  found  more  in  sculptured  marble. 

"  Do  you  know  where  she  is  ?  "  asked  Sir  John, 
almost  bluntly.     Like  a  workman  who  has   mis- 


24o  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

taken  his  material,  he  was  laying  aside  his  finer 
conversational  tools. 

"  Well,  I  believe  they  arrive  in  Toledo  this 
evening.  I  cannot  think  why.  But  with  General 
Vincente  one  never  knows.  He  is  so  pleasant,  so 
playful,  such  a  smile  ;  but  you  know  him.  Well, 
they  say  in  Spain,  that  he  is  always  where  he  is 
wanted.  Ah  — "  madame  paused  and  cast  her 
eyes  up  to  the  ceiling  —  "  what  it  is  to  be  wanted 
somewhere,  senor  !  " 

And  she  gave  him  the  benefit  of  one  of  her 
deepest  sighs.  Sir  John  mentally  followed  the 
direction  of  her  glance,  and  wondered  what  the 
late  count  thought  about  it. 

"  Yes,  I  am  deeply  interested  in  Estella,  as, 
indeed,  is  natural,  for  she  is  my  niece.  She  has 
no  mother,  and  the  general  has  such  absurd  ideas. 
He  thinks  that  a  girl  is  capable  of  choosing  a 
husband  for  herself;  but  to  you,  an  Englishman, 
such  an  idea  is  naturally  not  astonishing.  I  am 
told  that  in  your  country  it  is  the  girls  who  actu- 
ally propose  marriage." 

"  Not  in  words,  madame ;  not  more  in  England 
than  elsewhere." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  madame,  looking  at  him  doubtfully, 
and  thinking  despite  herself  of  Father  Concha. 

Sir  John  rose  from  the  chair  he  had  taken  at 
the  senora's  silent  invitation. 

"  Then  I  may  expect  the  general  to  arrive  at 
my  hotel  this  evening  ?  "  he  said.     "  I  am  staying 


REPARATION  241 

at  the  Red  Hat,  the  only  hotel,  as  I  understand,  in 
Toledo." 

"Yes;  he  will  doubtless  descend  there.  Do 
you  know  Frederick  Conyngham,  senor  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  But  every  one  knows  him  !  "  exclaimed  the 
lady,  vivaciously.  "  Tell  me  how  it  is.  A  most 
pleasant  young  man,  I  allow  you,  but  without 
introductions,  and  quite  unconnected.  Yet  he  has 
friends  everywhere  —  " 

The  contessa  paused,  and  closing  her  fan  leant 
forward  in  an  attitude  of  intense  confidence  and 
secrecy. 

"  And  how  about  his  little  affair  ? "  she  whis- 
pered. 

"  His  little  affair,  madame  ?  " 

"  De  cceur"  explained  the  lady,  tapping  her  own 
breast  with  an  eloquent  fan. 

"  Estella,"  she  whispered,  after  a  pause. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Sir  John,  as  if  he  knew  too  much 
about  it  to  give  an  opinion.  And  he  took  his 
leave. 

"That  is  the  sort  of  woman  to  break  one's 
heart  in  the  witness-box,"  he  said,  as  he  passed  out 
into  the  deserted  street ;  and  Senora  Barenna,  in 
the  great  room  with  the  armour,  reflected  com- 
placently that  the  English  lord  had  been  visibly 
impressed. 

General  Vincente  and  Estella  arrived  at  the 
hotel  of  the  Red   Hat  in  the  evening,  but  did  not, 

16 


242  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

of  course,  appear  in  tbe  public  rooms.  His  dusty 
old  travelling  carriage  was  placed  in  a  quiet  corner 
of  the  courtyard  of  the  hotel,  and  the  general 
appeared  on  this,  as  on  all  occasions,  to  court 
retirement  and  oblivion.  Unlike  many  of  his 
brothers  in  arms,  he  had  no  desire  to  catch  the 
public  eye. 

"  There  is  doubtless  something  astir,"  said  the 
waiter  who,  in  the  intervals  of  a  casual  attendance 
on  Sir  John,  spoke  of  these  things,  cigarette  in 
mouth  —  "  there  is  doubtless  something  astir,  since 
General  Vincente  is  on  the  road.  They  call  him 
the  Stormy  Petrel,  for  when  he  appears  abroad 
there  usually  follows  a  disturbance." 

Sir  John  sent  his  servant  to  the  general's  apart- 
ment about  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  asking 
permission  to  present  himself.  In  reply  the  gen- 
eral himself  came  to  Sir  John's  room. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  cried,  taking  both  the  Eng- 
lishman's hands  in  an  affectionate  grasp,  "to  think 
that  you  were  in  the  hotel,  and  that  we  did  not 
dine  together.  Come  —  yes,  come  to  our  poor 
apartment,  where  Estella  awaits  the  pleasure  of 
renewing  your  acquaintance." 

"  Then  the  senorita,"  said  Sir  John,  following 
his  companion  along  the  dimly  lighted  passage, 
"  has  her  father's  pleasant  faculty  of  forgetting  any 
little  contretemps  of  the  past  ?  " 

"  Ask  her,"  exclaimed  the  general,  in  his  cheery 
way  —  "  ask  her." 


REPARATION 


243 


And  he  threw  open  the  door  of  the  dingy  salon 
they  occupied. 

Estella  was  standing  with  her  back  to  the 
window,  and  her  attitude  suggested  that  she  had 
not  sat  down  since  she  had  heard  of  Sir  John's 
presence  in  the  hotel. 

"  Senorita,"  said  the  Englishman,  with  that  per- 
fect knowledge  of  the  world  which  usually  has  its 
firmest  basis  upon  contempt  and  indifference  to 
criticism  — "  senorita,  I  have  come  to  avow  a 
mistake,  and  to  make  my  excuses." 

"  It  is  surely  unnecessary,"  said  Estella,  rather 
coldly. 

"  Say  rather,"  broke  in  the  general,  in  his 
smoothest  way, "  that  you  have  come  to  take  a  cup 
of  coffee  with  us,  and  to  tell  us  your  news." 

Sir  John  took  the  chair  which  the  general 
brought  forward. 

"At  all  events,"  he  said,  addressing  Estella, 
"  it  is  probably  a  matter  of  indifference  to  you,  as 
it  is  merely  an  opinion  expressed  by  myself  which 
I  wish  to  retract.  When  I  first  had  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  you,  I  took  it  upon  myself  to  speak  of 
a  guest  in  your  father's  house,  fortunately  in  the 
presence  of  that  guest  himself,  and  I  now  wish  to 
tell  you  that  what  I  said  does  not  apply  to  Fred- 
erick Conyngham  himself,  but  to  another  whom 
Conyngham  is  screening.  He  has  not  confessed 
so  much  to  me,  but  I  have  satisfied  myself  that  he 
is  not  the  man  I  seek,      You,  general,  who  know 


244    '         IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

more  of  the  world  than  the  senorita,  and  have  been 
in  it  almost  as  long  as  I  have,  can  bear  me  out  in 
the  statement  that  the  motives  of  men  are  not  so 
easy  to  discern  as  younger  folks  imagine.  I  do 
not  know  what  induced  Conyngham  to  undertake 
this  thing,  probably  he  entered  into  it  in  a  spirit  of 
impetuous  and  reckless  generosity,  which  would 
only  be  in  keeping  with  his  character.  I  only 
know  that  he  has  carried  it  out  with  a  thorough- 
ness and  daring  worthy  of  all  praise.  If  such  a 
tie  were  possible  between  an  old  man  and  a  young, 
I  should  like  to  be  able  to  claim  Mr.  Conyngham 
as  a  friend.  There,  senorita,  thank  you ;  I  will 
take  coffee.  I  made  the  accusation  in  your  pres- 
ence, I  retract  it  before  you.  It  is,  as  you  see,  a 
small  matter." 

"  But  it  is  of  small  matters  that  life  is  made 
up,"  put  in  the  general,  in  his  deferential  way. 
"  Our  friend,"  he  went  on  after  a  pause,  "  is 
unfortunate  in  misrepresenting  himself.  We  also 
have  a  little  grudge  against  him,  a  little  matter  of 
a  letter  which  has  not  been  explained.  I  admit 
that  I  should  like  to  see  that  letter." 

"  And  where  is  it  ?  "  asked  Sir  John. 

"  Ah  !  "  replied  Vincente,  with  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders  and  a  gay  little  laugh,  "  who  can  tell  ? 
Perhaps  in  Toledo,  my  dear  sir  —  perhaps  in 
Toledo." 


CHAPTER    XXIII 
larralde's  price 

"  It  is  as  difficult  to  be  entirely  bad  as  it  is  to  be  entirely 
good." 

To  those  who  say  that  there  is  no  faith,  Spain  is 
in  itself  a  palpable  answer.  No  country  in  the 
world  can  show  such  cathedrals  as  those  of  Gran- 
ada, Cordova,  Seville,  Toledo,  Burgos.  In  any 
other  land  any  one  of  these  great  structures  would 
suffice.  But  in  Spain  these  huge  monuments  to 
that  faith  which  has  held  serenely  through  war  and 
fashion,  through  thought  and  thoughtlessness,  are 
to  be  found  in  all  the  great  cities.  And  the  queen 
of  them  all  is  Toledo.  If  the  Christian  faith  be, 
as  some  state,  a  mistake,  then  those  who  built 
Toledo  Cathedral  were  mistaken  to  good  purposes, 
and  for  us,  who  follow  and  cannot  do  likewise  in 
architecture,  it  may  be  wise  to  make,  at  all  events, 
the  same  mistake  in  faith. 

Father  Concha,  that  sour-visaged  philosopher, 
had  a  queer  pride  in  his  profession  and  in  the  his- 
tory of  that  Church  which  is  to-day  seen  in  its 
purest  form  in  the  Peninsula,  while  it  is  so 
entangled  with  the  national  story  of  Spain  that 
the  two  are  but  one  tale  told  from  a  different  point 


246  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

of  view.  As  a  private  soldier  may  take  pleasure 
in  standing  on  a  great  battle-field,  noting  each  spot 
of  interest,  —  here  a  valley  of  death,  there  the  scene 
of  cavalry  charge,  of  which  the  thunder  will  echo 
down  through  all  the  ages,  —  so  Concha,  a  mere 
country  priest,  liked  to  pace  the  aisles  of  a  great 
cathedral,  indulging  the  while  in  a  half-cynical 
pride.  He  was  no  great  general,  no  leader,  of  no 
smallest  importance  in  the  ranks ;  but  he  was  of 
the  army,  and  partook  in  a  minute  degree  of  those 
victories  that  belonged  to  the  past.  It  was  his 
habit  thus  to  pay  a  visit  to  Toledo  Cathedral 
whensoever  his  journeys  led  him  to  Castile.  It 
was,  moreover,  his  simple  custom  to  attend  the 
early  mass,  which  is  here  historical ;  and,  indeed, 
to  walk  through  the  church,  gray  and  cool,  with 
the  hush  that  seems  to  belong  only  to  buildings  of 
a  stupendous  age,  is  in  itself  a  religious  service. 

Concha  was  passing  across  the  nave,  hat  in 
hand,  a  gaunt,  ill-clad,  and  somewhat  pathetic 
figure,  when  he  caught  sight  of  Sir  John  Pleydell. 
The  tall  Englishman  paused  involuntarily  and 
looked  at  the  lean  Spaniard.      Concha  bowed. 

"  We  met,"  he  said,  "  for  a  moment  in  the 
garden  of  General  Vincente's  house  at  Ronda." 

"  True,"  answered  Sir  John  ;  "  are  you  leaving 
the  cathedral?  We  might  walk  a  little  way 
together.      One  cannot  talk  idly   .   .   .   here." 

He  paused  and  looked  up  at  the  great  oak 
screen,  at  the  towering   masonry. 


LARRALDE'S   PRICE  247 

M  No,"-  answered  Concha,  gravely  ;  "  one  cannot 
talk  idly  here." 

Concha  held  back  the  great  leathern  portiere,  and 
the  Englishman  passed  out. 

"  This  is  a  queer  country,  and  you  are  a  queer 
people,"  he  said  presently.  "  When  I  was  at 
Ronda  I  met  a  certain  number  of  persons  —  I  can 
count  them  on  my  fingers  —  General  Vincente, 
his  daughter,  Senora  Barenna,  Senorita  Barenna, 
the  Englishman,  Conyngham,  yourself,  Sefior 
Concha.  I  arrived  in  Toledo  yesterday  morning. 
In  twenty-four  hours  I  have  caught  sight  of  all  the 
persons  mentioned  here  in  Toledo." 

"  And  here  in  Toledo  is  another  of  whom  you 
have  not  caught  sight,"  said  Concha. 

«  Ah  !  " 

"  Yes  ;  Senor  Larralde." 

"  Is  he  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Concha. 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  some  minutes. 

"What  are  we  all  doing  here,  padre?"  in- 
quired Sir  John,  with  his  cold  laugh. 

u  What  are  you  doing  here,  senor  ?  " 

Sir  John  did  not  answer  at  once.  They  were 
walking  leisurely.  The  streets  were  deserted,  as, 
indeed,  the  streets  of  Toledo  usually  are. 

"  I  am  putting  two  and  two  together,"  the  great 
lawyer  answered  at  length.  "  I  began  doing  so  in 
idleness,  and  now  I  have  become  interested." 

«  Ah  ! " 


248  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  Yes,  I  have  become  interested.  They  say, 
padre,  that  a  pebble  set  in  motion  at  the  summit  of 
a  mountain  may  gather  other  pebbles  and  increase  in 
bulk  and  spread,  until  in  the  form  of  an  avalanche 
it  overwhelms  a  city  in  the  valley." 

"  Yes,  senor." 

"  And  I  have  conceived  the  strange  fancy  that 
Frederick  Conyngham,  when  he  first  came  to  this 
country  set  such  a  pebble  in  motion  at  the  sum- 
mit of  a  very  high  mountain.  It  has  been  falling 
and  falling  silently  ever  since,  and  it  is  gaining  in 
bulk.  And  you  and  General  Vincente,  and  Estella 
Vincente,  and  Senorita  Barenna,  and  Frederick 
Conyngham,  and,  in  a  minor  degree,  myself  are 
on  the  slope,  in  the  track  of  the  avalanche,  and 
are  sliding  down  behind  it.  And  the  general 
and  Estella,  and  yourself  and  Conyngham  are  try- 
ing to  overtake  it  and  stop  it  ;  and,  reverendo,  in 
the  valley  below  is  the  monarchy  of  Spain  and  the 
Bourbon  cause." 

Father  Concha,  remembering  his  favourite  maxim, 
that  no  flies  enter  a  shut  mouth,  was  silent. 

"  The  pebble  was  a  letter,"  said  Sir  John. 

"  And  Larralde  has  it,"  he  added,  after  a  pause ; 
"  and  that  is  why  you  are  all  in  Toledo,  why  the  air 
is  thick  with  apprehension,  and  why  all  Spain  seems 
to  pause  and  wait  breathlessly. 

"  Will  the  avalanche  be  stopped,  or  will  it  not  ? 
Will  the  Bourbons,  than  whom  history  has  known 
no   more   interesting    and    more   satisfactory  race, 


LARRALDE'S   PRICE  249 

except  our  own  Stuarts — will  the  Bourbons  fall, 
Senor  Padre  ?  " 

"  Ah !  "  said  Concha,  whose  furrowed  face  and 
pessimistic  glance  betrayed  nothing  —  "  ah  !  " 

"  You  will  not  tell  me,  of  course.  You  know 
much  that  you  will  not  tell  me,  and  I  merely  ask 
from  curiosity.  You,  perhaps,  know  one  thing, 
and  that  I  wish  to  learn  from  you,  not  out  of  curi- 
osity, but  because  I,  too,  would  fain  overtake  the 
avalanche  and  stop  it.  I  am  no  politician,  senor, 
though,  of  course,  I  have  my  views.  When  a  man 
has  reached  my  age  he  knows  assuredly  that  politics 
merely  mean  self-aggrandisement  and  nothing  else. 
No,  the  Bourbons  may  fall,  Spain  may  follow  the 
lead  of  France,  and  make  an  exhibition  of  herself 
before  the  world  as  a  republic.  I  am  indifferent  to 
these  events.  But  I  wish  to  do  Frederick  Con- 
yngham  a  good  turn,  and  I  ask  you  to  tell  me 
where  I  shall  find  Larralde,  you  who  know  every- 
thing, Senor  Padre." 

Concha  reflected  while  they  walked  along  on  the 
shady  side  of  the  narrow  street.  It  happened  to 
be  the  street  where  the  saddlers  live,  and  the  sharp 
sound  of  their  little  hammers  on  the  leather  and 
wood  came  from  almost  every  darkened  door- 
way. The  padre  had  a  wholesome  fear  of  Esteban 
Larralde,  and  an  exaggerated  estimation  of  that 
schemer's  ability.  He  was  a  humble-minded  old 
man,  and  ever  hesitated  to  put  his  own  brain 
against  that  of  another.      He  knew  that  Sir  John 


250  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

was  a  cleverer  man  than  Larralde,  deeper  versed 
in  that  side  of  human  nature  where  the  seams  are 
and  the  knots  and  the  unsightly  stitches,  older,  more 
experienced,  and  probably  no  more  scrupulous. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  priest,  "  I  can  tell  you  that. 
Larralde  lodges  in  the  house  of  a  malcontent,  one 
Lamberto,  a  scribbling  journalist,  who  is  hurt 
because  the  world  takes  him  at  its  own  valuation 
and  not  his.  The  house  is  next  to  the  little  syna- 
gogue in  the  Calle  de  Madrid,  a  small  stationer's 
shop,  where  one  may  buy  the  curse  of  this  genera- 
tion, pens  and  paper." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Sir  John,  civilly  and  simply. 
This  man  has,  no  doubt,  been  ill  painted,  but  some 
may  have  seen  that  with  different  companions  he 
wore  a  different  manner.  He  was,  as  all  successful 
men  are,  an  unconscious  actor,  and  in  entering  into 
the  personality  of  the  companion  of  the  moment  he 
completely  sank  his  own.  He  never  sought  to  be 
all  things  to  all  men,  and  yet  he  came  near  to  the 
accomplishment  of  that  hard  task.  Sir  John  was 
not  a  sympathetic  man,  he  merely  mistook  life  for 
a  court  of  justice,  and  arraigned  all  human  nature 
in  the  witness-box,  with  the  inward  conviction  that 
this  should  by  rights  be  exchanged  for  the  felon's 
dock. 

With  Concha  he  was  as  simple,  as  direct,  and  as 
unsophisticated  as  the  old  priest  himself,  and  now 
took  his  leave  without  attempting  to  disguise  the 
fact  that  he  had  accomplished  a  fore-set  purpose. 


LARRALDE'S   PRICE  251 

Without  difficulty  he  found  the  small  stationer's 
shop  next  the  synagogue  in  the  Calle  de  Madrid, 
and  bade  the  stationer,  a  spectacled  individual  with 
upright  hair  and  the  air  of  seeking  something  in  the 
world  which  is  not  usually  behind  a  counter,  take 
his  card  to  Senor  Larralde.  At  first  the  stationer 
pretended  ignorance  of  the  name,  but  on  discover- 
ing that  Sir  John  had  not  sufficient  Spanish  to 
conduct  a  conversation  of  intrigue,  disappeared 
into  a  back  room,  whence  emanated  a  villainous 
smell  of  cooking. 

While  Sir  John  waited  in  the  little  shop,  Father 
Concha  walked  to  the  Plazuela  de  la  Iglesia  Vieja, 
which  small  square,  overhanging  the  Tagus  and 
within  reach  of  its  murmuring  voice,  is  deserted,  ex- 
cept at  midday,  when  the  boys  play  at  bull  fighting 
and  a  few  workmen  engage  in  a  grave  game  of  bowls. 
Concha  sat,  book  in  hand,  opened  honestly  at  the 
office  of  the  day  and  hour,  and  read  no  word. 
Instead,  he  stared  across  the  gorge  at  the  brown 
bank  of  land  which  commands  the  city,  and  renders 
it  useless  as  a  fortress  in  the  days  of  modern  artil- 
lery. He  sat  and  stared  grimly,  and  thought  per- 
haps of  those  secret  springs  within  the  human 
heart  that  make  one  man  successful  and  unhappy, 
while  another  who,  possessing  brains  and  ability 
and  energy,  yet  fails  in  life,  and  is  perhaps  none 
the  less  the  happier  of  the  two,  for  it  had  happened 
to  Father  Concha,  as  it  may  happen  to  writer  and 
reader  at  any  moment,  to  meet  one  who  in  indi- 


252  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

viduality  bears  a  resemblance  to  that  self  which  we 
never  know  and  yet  are  ever  conscious  of. 

Sir  John  Pleydell,  a  few  hundred  yards  away, 
obeyed  the  shopman's  invitation  to  step  upstairs 
with  something  approaching  alacrity,  so  easily  is 
the  interest  of  a  lonely  man  aroused. 

Larralde  was  seated  at  a  table  strewn  with 
newspapers  and  soiled  by  cigarette-ash.  He  had 
the  unkempt  and  pallid  look  of  one  who  has  not 
seen  the  sun  or  breathed  air  for  days,  for,  as 
Concepcion  had  said,  this  was  a  conspirator  who 
preferred  to  lurk  in  friendly  shelter  while  others 
played  the  bolder  game  at  the  front.  Larralde 
had,  in  fact,  not  stirred  abroad  f6r  nearly  a  week. 

"  Well,  senor,"  he  said,  with  a  false  air  of  bra- 
vado, "  how  fares  it  with  your  little  undertaking  ?  " 

"  That,"  replied  Sir  John,  "  is  past  and  paid  for, 
and  I  have  another  matter  for  your  consideration." 

Sir  John's  manner  had  changed.  He  spoke  as 
one  having  authority,  and  Larralde  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  remembering  a  past  payment. 

u  Ah  !  "  he  said,  rolling  a  cigarette  with  a  fine 
air  of  indifference. 

"  On  the  one  hand,"  continued  Sir  John,  judi- 
cially, "I  come  to  make  you  an  offer  which  can 
only  be  beneficial  to  you ;  on  the  other  hand, 
Senor  Larralde,  I  know  enough  to  make  things 
particularly  unpleasant  for  you." 

Larralde  raised  his  eyebrows  and  sought  the 
match-box.     His  thoughts  seemed  to  amuse  him. 


LARRALDE'S   PRICE  253 

"  I  have  reason  to  assume  that  a  certain  letter  is 
now  in  your  possession  again.  I  do  not  know  the 
contents  of  this  letter,  and  I  cannot  say  that  I  am 
at  all  interested  in  it,  but  a  friend  of  mine  is  par- 
ticularly anxious  to  have  possession  of  it  for  a  short 
space  of  time.  I  have,  unasked,  taken  upon  myself 
the  office  of  intermediary." 

Larralde's  eyes  flashed  through  the  smoke. 

"  You  are  about  to  offer  me  money  ;  be  careful, 
senor,"  he  said  hotly  ;  and  the  lawyer  smiled. 

"  Be  careful  that  it  is  enough,"  he  suggested. 
"  Keep  your  grand  airs  for  your  fellows,  Senor 
Larralde.  Yes,  I  am  about  to  offer  you  two  hun- 
dred pounds  —  say  three  thousand  pesetas  —  for 
the  loan  of  that  letter  for  a  few  hours  only.  I  will 
guarantee  that  it  is  read  by  one  person  only,  and 
that  a  lady.  This  lady  will  probably  glance  at  the 
first  lines,  merely  to  satisfy  herself  as  to  the  nature 
of  its  contents.  Three  thousand  pesetas  will  enable 
you  to  escape  to  Cuba  if  your  schemes  fail.  If 
you  succeed,  three  thousand  pesetas  will  always 
be  of  use,  even  to  a  member  of  a  republican 
government." 

Larralde  had  ceased  smiling.  There  is  a  time 
in  the  schemes  of  men,  and  it  usually  comes  just 
before  the  crisis,  when  the  stoutest  heart  hesitates 
and  the  most  reckless  conspirator  thinks  of  his 
retreat.  Esteban  Larralde  had  begun  to  think  of 
Cuba  during  the  last  few  days,  and  the  mention  of 
that  haven  for  Spanish  failures  almost  unnerved  him. 


254  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"In  a  week,"  suggested  Sir  John,  again, "  it  may 
be  .   .   .  well  .  .   .  settled  one  way  or  the  other." 

Larralde  glanced  at  him  sharply.  This  English- 
man was  either  well  informed  or  very  cunning. 
He  seemed  to  have  read  the  thought  in  Larralde's 
mind. 

"  No  doubt,"  went  on  the  Englishman,  "  you 
have  divined  for  whom  I  want  the  letter,  and  who 
will  read  it.  We  both  owe  Conyngham  a  good 
turn  —  I  in  reparation,  you  in  gratitude,  for  he 
undoubtedly  saved  the  Senorita  Barenna  from 
imprisonment  for  life." 

Larralde  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Each  man,"  he  said,  "  must  fight  for  himself." 

"  And  the  majority  of  us  for  a  woman  as  well," 
amended  Sir  John.  "  At  least,  in  Spain,  chivalry 
is  not  yet  dead." 

Larralde  laughed.  He  was  vain,  and  Sir  John 
knew  it.  He  had  a  keen  sight  for  the  breach  in 
his  opponent's  armour. 

"  You  have  put  your  case  well,"  said  the 
Spaniard,  patronisingly,  "  and  I  do  not  see  why,  at 
the  end  of  a  week,  I  should  not  agree  to  your  pro- 
posal.    It  is,  as  you  say,  for  the  sake  of  a  woman." 

"  Precisely." 

Larralde  leant  back  in  his  chair,  remembering 
the  legendary  gallantry  of  his  race,  and  wearing  an 
appropriate  expression. 

"  For  a  woman,"  he  repeated,  with  an  eloquent 
gesture. 


LARRALDE'S   PRICE  255 


u 


Precisely." 
"  Then  I  will  do  it,  senor —  I  will  do  it." 
"  For  two  hundred  pounds  ?  "  inquired  Sir  John, 

coldly. 

"  As  you  will,"  answered   the  Spaniard,  with  a 

noble  indifference  to  such  sordid  matters. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 


PRIESTCRAFT 


"  No  man,  I  fear,  can  effect  great  benefits  for  his  coun- 
try without  some  sacrifice  of  the  minor  virtues." 

The  Senora  Barenna  was  a  leading  social  light 
in  Toledo,  insomuch  as  she  never  refused  an 
invitation. 

"  One  has  one's  duties  toward  society,"  she 
would  say,  with  a  sigh,  "  though  the  saints  know 
that  I  take  no  pleasure  in  these    affairs." 

Then  she  put  on  her  best  Seville  mantilla  and 
bustled  off  to  some  function  or  another,  where  she 
talked  volubly  and  without  discretion. 

Julia  had  of  late  withdrawn  more  and  more  from 
that  life  of  continued  and  mild  festivity,  of  which, 
it  is  to  be  feared,  the  existence  of  many  women  is 
composed.  This  afternoon  she  sat  alone  in  the 
great,  gloomy  house  in  Toledo,  waiting  for  Lar- 
ralde ;  for  she,  like  thousands  of  her  sisters,  loved 
an  unworthy  object, — faute  de  mieux,  —  with  open 
eyes  and  a  queer  philosophy  that  bade  her  love 
Larralde  rather  than  love  none.  She  had  lately 
spent  a  great  part  of  her  existence  in  waiting  for 


PRIESTCRAFT 


257 


Larralde, '  who,  indeed,  was  busy  enough  at  this 
time,  and  rarely  stirred  abroad  while  the  sun  was 
up. 

"  Julia,"  said  Senora  Barenna  to  Concha,  "  is  no 
longer  a  companion  to  me.  She  does  not  even 
attempt  to  understand  my  sensitive  organisation. 
She  is  a  mere  statue,  and  thinks  of  nothing  but 
politics." 

"  For  her,  madame,  as  for  all  women,  there 
would  be  no  politics  if  there  were  no  politicians," 
the  priest  replied. 

This  afternoon  Julia  was  more  restless  than 
ever.  Larralde  had  not  been  to  see  her  for  many 
days,  and  had  only  written  a  hurried  note  from 
time  to  time,  in  answer  to  her  urgent  request, 
telling  her  that  he  was  well  and  in   no   danger. 

She  now  no  longer  knew  whether  he  was  in 
Toledo  or  not,  but  had  sufficient  knowledge  of  the 
schemes  in  which  he  was  engaged  to  be  aware  of 
the  fact  that  these  were  coming  to  a  crisis.  Este- 
ban  Larralde  had,  indeed,  told  her  more  than  was 
either  necessary  or  discreet,  and  it  was  his  vanity 
that  led  him  into  this  imprudence.  We  are  all 
ready  enough  to  impart  information  which  will 
show  our  neighbours  that  we  are  more  important 
than  we  appear. 

After  a  broiling  day  the  sun  was  now  beginning 
to  lose  a  little  of  his  terrific  power,  and  in  the 
shade  of  the  patio,  upon  which  the  windows  of 
Julia's  room  opened,  the   air  was  quite  cool  and 

17 


258  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

pleasant.  A  fountain  plashed  continuously  in  a 
little  basin  that  had  been  white  six  centuries  ago, 
when  the  Moors  had  brought  the  marble  across  the 
Gulf  of  Lyons  to  build  it.  The  very  sound  of  the 
water  was  a  relief  to  overstrained  nerves,  and 
seemed  to  diminish  the  tension  of  the  shimmering 
atmosphere. 

Julia  was  alone,  and  barely  made  pretence  to 
read  the  book  she  held  in  her  hand.  From  her 
seat  she  could  see  the  bell  suspended  on  the  opposite 
wall  of  the  courtyard,  of  which  the  deep  voice  at 
any  time  of  day  or  night  had  the  power  of  stirring 
her  heart  in  a  sudden  joy.  At  last  the  desired 
sound  broke  the  silence  of  the  great  house,  and 
Julia  stood  breathless  at  the  window,  while  the 
servant  leisurely  crossed  the  patio  and  threw  open 
the  great  door,  large  enough  to  admit  a  carriage 
and  pair.  It  was  not  Larralde,  but  Father  Concha, 
brought  hither  by  a  note  he  had  received  from  Sir 
John  Pleydell  earlier  in  the  afternoon. 

"  I  shall  have  the  letter  in  a  week  from  now," 
the  Englishman  had  written. 

"  Which  will  be  too  late,"  commented  Concha, 
pessimistically. 

The  senora  was  out,  they  told  him,  but  the 
senorita  had  remained  at  home. 

"  It  is  the  senorita  I  desire  to  see." 

And  Julia,  at  the  window  above,  heard  the 
remark  with  a  sinking  heart.  The  air  seemed  to 
be  weighted  with  the  suggestion  of  calamity.   Concha 


PRIESTCRAFT  259 

had  the  •  manner  of  one  bringing  bad  news.  She 
forgot  that  this  was  his  usual  mien. 

"  Ah,  my  child  !  "  he  said,  coming  into  the  room 
a  minute  later  and  sitting  down  rather  wearily. 

"  What  ? "  she  asked,  her  two  hands  at  her 
breast. 

He  glanced  at  her  beneath  his  brows.  The 
wind  was  in  the  northeast,  dry  and  tingling.  The 
sun  had  worn  a  coppery  hue  all  day.  Such  matters 
affect  women  and  those  who  are  in  mental  distress. 
After  such  a  day  as  had  at  last  worn  to  evening  the 
mind  is  at  a  great  tension,  the  nerves  are  strained. 
It  is  at  such  times  that  men  fly  into  sudden  anger 
and  whip  out  the  knife.  At  such  times  women  are 
reckless,  and  the  stories  of  human  lives  take  sudden 
turns. 

Concha  knew  that  he  had  this  woman  at  a 
disadvantage. 

"  What  ?  "  he  echoed  ;  "  I  wish  I  knew.  I  wish 
at  times  I  was  no  priest." 

«  Why  ? " 

"Because  I  could  help  you  better.  Sometimes 
it  is  the  man  and  not  the  priest  who  is  the  truest 
friend." 

"  Why  do  you  speak  like  this  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Is 
there  danger  ?     What  has  happened  ?  " 

"You  know  best,  my  child,  if  there  is  danger; 
you  know  what  is  likely  to  happen." 

Julia  stood  looking  at  him  with  hard  eyes,  the 
eyes  of  one  in  mortal  fear. 


26o  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 


cc 


You  have  always   been    my    friend,"  she  said 
slowly  —  "  my  best  friend." 

"  Yes  ;  a  woman's  lover  is  never  her  best  friend." 

"  Has  anything  happened  to  Esteban  ?  " 

The  priest  did  not  answer  at  once,  but  paused, 

reflecting,  and    dusting    his    sleeve,    where    there 

was  always  some  snuff  requiring  attention  at  such 

moments. 

"I  know  so  little,"  he  said.  "I  am  no  poli- 
tician. What  can  I  say  ?  What  can  I  advise 
you  when  I  am  in  the  dark  ?  And  the  time  is 
slipping  by  —  slipping  by." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  she  answered,  turning 
away  and  looking  out  of  the  window. 

"  You  cannot  tell  the  priest ;  tell  the  man." 
Then  suddenly  she  reached  the  end  of  her  endur- 
ance. Standing  with  her  back  toward  him  she 
told  her  story,  and  Concha  listened  with  a  still, 
breathless  avidity,  as  one  who,  having  long  sought 
knowledge,  finds  it  at  last  when  it  seemed  out  of 
reach.  The  little  fountain  plashed  in  the  court- 
yard below,  a  frog  in  the  basin  among  the  water- 
lilies  croaked  sociably,  while  the  priest  and  the 
beautiful  woman  in  the  room  above  made  history, 
for  it  is  not  always  in  kings'  palaces  nor  yet  in 
parliaments  that  the  story  of  the  world  is  shaped. 

Concha  spoke  no  word,  and  Julia,  having  begun, 
left  nothing  unsaid,  but  told  him  every  detail  in  a 
slow,  mechanical  voice,  as  if  bidden  thereto  by  a 
stronger  will  than  her  own. 


PRIESTCRAFT  261 

u  He  is  all  the  world  to  me,"  she  said  simply  in 
conclusion. 

"  Yes ;  and  the  happiest  women  are  those  who 
live  in  a  small  world." 

A  silence  fell  upon  them.  The  old  priest  sur- 
reptitiously looked  at  his  watch.  He  was  essen- 
tially a  man  of  action. 

"  My  child,"  he  said,  rising,  "  when  you  are  an 
old  woman  with  children  to  harass  you  and  make 
your  life  worth  living,  you  will  probably  look 
back  with  thankfulness  to  this  moment,  for  you 
have  done  that  which  was  your  only  chance  of 
happiness." 

"  Why  do  you  always  help  me  ?  "  she  asked,  as 
she  had  asked  a  hundred  times. 

"  Because  happiness  is  so  rare,  that  I  hate  to  see 
it  wasted,"  he  answered,  going  toward  the  door 
with  a  grim  laugh. 

He  passed  out  of  the  room  and  crossed  the  patio 
slowly.  Then,  when  the  great  door  had  closed 
behind  him,  he  gathered  up  the  skirts  of  his  cas- 
sock and  hurried  down  the  narrow  street.  In  such 
thoroughfares  as  were  deserted  he  ran  with  the 
speed  and  endurance  of  a  spare,  hard-living  man. 
Woman-like,  Julia  had,  after  all,  done  things  by  half. 
She  had  timed  her  confession,  as  it  seemed,  too  late, 

At  the  hotel  they  told  the  padre  that  General 
Vincente  was  at  dinner  and  could  not  be  disturbed. 

"  He  sees  no  one,"  the  servant  said. 

"  You  do  not  know  who  I  am,"  said   Concha, 


262  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

in  an  irony  which  under  the  circumstances  he  alone 
could  enjoy.  Then  he  passed  up  the  stairs  and 
bade  the  waiter  begone. 

"  But  I  carry  the  general's  dessert,"  protested  the 
man. 

"  No,"  said  Concha,  half  to  himself  j  "  I  have 
that." 

Vincente  was,  indeed,  at  the  table  with  Estella. 
He  looked  up  as  the  priest  entered,  fingering  a  cig- 
arette delicately. 

"  How  soon  can  you  take  the  road  ?  "  asked 
Concha,  abruptly. 

"  Ten  minutes,  the  time  for  a  cup  of  coffee," 
was  the  answer,  given  with  a  pleasant  laugh. 

"  Then  order  your  carriage." 

Vincente  looked  at  his  old  friend,  and  the  smile 
never  left  his  lips,  though  his  eyes  were  grave 
enough.  It  was  hard  to  say  whether  aught  on 
earth  could  disturb  this  man's  equanimity.  Then 
the  general  rose  and  went  to  the  window,  which 
opened  upon  the  courtyard.  In  the  quiet  corner, 
near  the  rain-tank,  where  a  vine  grows  upon  trellis- 
work,  the  dusty  travelling-carriage  stood,  and  upon 
the  step  of  it,  eating  a  simple  meal  of  bread  and 
dried  figs,  sat  the  man  who  had  the  reputation  of 
being  the  fastest  driver  in  Spain. 

"  In  ten  minutes,  my  good  Manuel,"  said  the 
general. 

"  Bueno  !  "  grumbled  the  driver,  with  his  mouth 
full,  a  man  of  few  words. 


PRIESTCRAFT  263 

"  Is  it-  to  go  far  ?  "  asked  the  general,  turning  on 
his  heel  and  addressing  Concha. 

"  A  long  journey." 

"  To  take  the  road,  Manuel !  "  cried  Vincente, 
leaning  out.  He  closed  the  window  before  resum- 
ing his  seat. 

"  And  now,  have  you  any  more  orders  ?  "  he 
asked,  with  a  gay  carelessness.  "  I  counted  on 
sleeping  in  a  bed  to-night." 

"  You  will  not  do  that,"  replied  Concha,  "  when 
you  hear  my  news." 

«  Ah  !  " 

"  But  first  you  must  promise  me  not  to  make 
use  of  the  information  I  give  you  against  any  sus- 
pected persons ;  to  take,  in  fact,  only  preventive 
measures." 

"  You  have  only  to  name  it,  my  friend. 
Proceed." 

The  old  priest  paused  and  passed  his  hand 
across  his  brow.  He  was  breathless  still  and 
looked  worn. 

"  It  is,"  he  said,  "  a  very  grave  matter.  I  have 
not  had  much  experience  in  such  things,  for  my 
path  has  always  lain  in  small  parochial  affairs, 
dealings  with  children  and  women." 

Estella  was  already  pouring  some  wine  into  a 
glass.  With  a  woman's  instinct  she  saw  that  the 
old  man  was  overwrought  and  faint.  It  was  a  Fri- 
day, and  in  his  simple  way  there  was  no  more 
austere   abstinent    than    Father   Concha,  who   had 


264  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

probably  touched  little  food  throughout  the  long, 
hot  day. 

"  Take  your  time,  my  friend,  take  your  time," 
said  the  general,  who  never  hurried,  and  was  never 
too  late.  "  A  pinch  of  snuff  now,  it  stimulates  the 
nerves." 

"  It  is,"  said  Concha,  at  length  breaking  a  biscuit 
in  his  long,  bony  fingers,  and  speaking  unembar- 
rassedly  with  his  mouth  full  —  "it  is  that  I  have 
by  the  merest  accident  lighted  upon  a  matter  of 
political  importance." 

The  general  nodded,  and  held  his  wine  up  to 
the  light. 

"  There  are  matters  of  much  political  import- 
ance," he  said,  "  in  the  air  just  now." 

"  A  plot,"  continued  Concha,  "  spreading  over 
all  Spain.  The  devil  is  surely  in  it,  and  I  know 
the  Carlists  are.  A  plot,  believe  me,  to  assassinate 
and  rob  and  kidnap." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  general,  with  his  tolerant  little 
smile  — "  yes,  my  dear  padre,  some  men  are  so 
bloodthirsty  ;   is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  This  plot  is  directed  against  the  little  Queen, 
against  the  Queen  Regent,  against  many  who  are 
notable  Royalists,  occupying  high  posts  in  the 
government    or    the    army." 

He  glanced  at  Estella,  and  then  looked  mean- 
ingly at  the  general,  who  could  scarcely  fail  to 
comprehend. 

"  Let  us  deal  with  the  Queen  and  the  Queen 


PRIESTCRAFT  265 

Regent,"- said  Vincente  ;  "the  others  are  probably 
able  to  take  care  of  themselves." 

"  None  can  guard  himself  against  assassination." 

The  general  seemed  for  a  moment  inclined  to 
dispute  this  statement,  but  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  finally  passed  it  by. 

"  The  Queen,"  he  said  ;  "  what  of  her  ?  " 

In  response  Concha  took  a  newspaper  from  his 
pocket  and  spread  it  out  on  the  table.  After  a 
brief  search  up  and  down  the  ill-printed  columns 
he  found  the  desired  paragraph  and  real  aloud  : 

"  The  Queen  is  in  Madrid.  The  Queen  Re' 
gent  journeys  from  Seville  to  rejoin  her  daughter 
in  the  capital,  prosecuting  her  journey  by  easy 
stages  and  accompanied  by  a  small  guard.  Her 
Majesty  sleeps  at  Ciudad  Real  to-night,  and  at 
Toledo  to-morrow  night." 

"  This,"  said  Concha,  folding  the  newspaper,  "  is 
a  Carlist  and  revolutionary  rag,  whose  readers  are 
scarcely  likely  to  be  interested  for  a  good  motive  in 
the  movements  of  the  Queen  Regent." 

"True,  my  dear  padre  —  true,"  admitted  Vin- 
cente,  half  reluctantly. 

"  Many  kiss  hands  they  would  fain  see  chopped 
off.  In  the  streets  and  on  the  plaza  I  have  seen 
many  reading  this  newspaper  and  talking  over  it 
with  unusual  interest.  Like  a  bad  lawyer,  I  am 
giving  the  confirmation  of  the  argument  before  the 
argument  itself." 

"  No  matter,  no  matter." 


266  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  Ah  !  but  we  have  no  time  to  do  things  ill  or 
carelessly,"  said  the  priest.  "  My  story  is  a  long 
one,  but  I  will  tell  it  as  quickly  as  I  can." 

"  Take  your  time,"  urged  the  general,  soothingly. 
"  This  great  plot,  you  say,  which  is  to  spread  over 
all  Spain   .   .   ." 

"  Is  for  to-morrow  night,  my  friend." 


CHAPTER   XXV 

SWORDCRAFT 

"Rien  n'est    plus    courageux  qu'un   coeur  patient,   rien 
n'est  plus  sur  de  soi  qu'un  esprit  doux." 

The  general  set  down  his  glass,  and  a  queer  light 
came  into  his  eyes,  usually  so  smiling  and  pleasant. 

"  Ah  !  Then  you  are  right,  my  friend.  Tell 
us  your  story  as  quickly  as  possible." 

« It  appears,"  said  Concha,  "  that  there  has 
been  in  progress  for  many  months  a  plot  to  assas- 
sinate the  Queen  Regent  and  to  seize  the  person 
of  the  little  Queen,  expelling  her  from  Spain  and 
bringing  in  not  Don  Carlos,  who  is  a  spent  fire- 
work, but  a  republic,  a  more  dangerous  firework, 
that  usually  bursts  in  the  hands  of  those  that  light 
it.  This  plot  has  been  finally  put  into  shape  by 
a  letter.  .  .  ." 

He  paused,  tapped  on  the  table  with  his  bony 
fingers,  and   glanced  at   Estella. 

"...  A  letter  which  has  been  going  the  round 
of  all  the  malcontents  in  the  Peninsula.  Each 
faction-leader,  to  show  that  he  has  read  it  and 
agrees  to  obey  its  commands,  initials  the  letter.  It 
has  then  been  returned  to  an  intermediary,  who 


268  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

sends  it  to  the  next  —  never  by  post,  unless  un- 
avoidable, because  the  post  is  watched — always 
by  hand,  and  usually  by  the  hand  of  a  person  inno- 
cent of  its  contents." 

"  Yes,"  murmured  the  general,  absently,  and  there 
was  a  queer  little  triumphant  smile  on  Estella's 
lips. 

"  To  think,"  cried  Concha,  with  a  sudden  fire 
less  surprising  in  Spain  than  in  England  — "  to 
think  that  we  have  all  seen  it,  have  touched  it  ! 
Name  of  a  saint,  I  had  it  under  my  hand,  alone 
and  unobserved,  in  the  hotel  at  Algeciras,  and  I 
left  it  on  the  table.  And  now  it  has  been  the 
round,  and  all  the  initials  are  placed  upon  it,  and 
it   is   for  to-morrow." 

"  Where  have  you  learnt  this  ?  "  asked  the  gen- 
eral, in  a  voice  that  made  Estella  look  at  him. 
She  had  never  seen  him  as  his  enemies  had  seen 
him,  and  even  they  confessed  that  he  was  always 
visible  enough  in  action.  Perhaps  there  was  an- 
other man  behind  the  personality  of  this  deprecat- 
ing, pleasant-spoken,  little  sybarite  —  a  man  who 
only  appeared  (oh,  vara  avis ! )  when  he  was 
wanted. 

"  No  matter  !  "  replied  Concha,  in  a  voice  as 
hard  and   sharp. 

"  No,  after  all,  it  is  of  no  matter  so  long  as 
your  information   is  reliable." 

"  You  may  stake  your  life  on  that,"  said  Con- 
cha, and  remembered  the  words  ever  after. 


SWORDCRAFT  269 

"  It  has  been  decided  to  make  this  journey  from 
Seville  to  Madrid  the  opportunity  of  assassinating 
the  Queen  Regent." 

"  It  will  not  be  the  first  time  they  have  tried," 
put  in  the  general. 

"  No  ;  but  this  time  they  will  succeed,  and  it 
is  to  be  here  to-morrow  night,  in  Toledo.  After 
the  Queen  Regent's  death,  and  in  the  confusion 
that  will  supervene,  the  little  Queen  will  disappear, 
and  then  upon  the  rubbish-heap  will  spring  up  the 
mushrooms,  as  they  did  in  France,  and  this  rubbish- 
heap,  like  the  other,  will  foul  the  air  of  all 
Europe." 

He  shook  his  head  pessimistically  till  the  long, 
wispy,  gray  hair  waved  from  side  to  side,  and  his 
left  hand,  resting  on  the  wrist-bone  on  the  table, 
made  an  indescribable  gesture  that  showed  a  foetid 
air  tainted  by  darksome  growths. 

There  was  a  silence  in  the  room,  broken  by  no 
outside  sound  but  the  clink  of  champed  bits  as  the 
horses  stood  in  their  traces  below.  Indeed,  the 
city  of  Toledo  seemed  strangely  still  this  evening, 
and  the  very  air  had  a  sense  of  waiting  in  it.  The 
priest  sat  and  looked  at  his  lifelong  friend,  his  fur- 
rowed face  the  incarnation  of  cynical  hopelessness. 
«  What  is,  is  worst,"  he  seemed  to  say.  His  yel- 
low, wise  old  eyes  watched  the  quick  face  with  the 
air  of  one  who,  having  posed  an  unsolvable  prob- 
lem, awaits  with  a  sarcastic  humour  the  admission 
of  failure. 


270  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

General  Vincente,  who  had  just  finished  his 
wine,  wiped  his  moustache  delicately  with  his 
pocket-handkerchief.  He  was  thinking  quickly, 
systematically,  as  men  learn  to  think  under  fire. 

Perhaps,  indeed,  he  had  the  thoughts  half- 
matured  in  his  mind,  as  the  greatest  general  the 
world  has  seen  confessed  that  he  ever  had,  that  he 
was  never  taken  quite  by  surprise.  Vincente 
smiled  as  he  thought,  a  habit  he  had  acquired  on 
the  field,  where  a  staff",  and  perhaps  a  whole  army, 
took  its  cue  from  his  face  and  read  the  turn  of 
fortune  there.  Then  he  looked  up  straight  at 
Estella,  who  was  watching  him. 

"  Can  you  start  on  a  journey  now,  in  five  min- 
utes ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  rising  and  going  toward 
the  door. 

"  Have  you  a  white  mantilla  among  your  travel- 
ling things  ?  "  he  asked  again. 

Estella  turned  at  the  doorway  and  nodded. 

"  Then  take  it  with  you  and  a  cloak,  but  no 
heavy  luggage." 

Estella  closed  the  door. 

"  You  can  come  with  us  ?  "  said  the  general  to 
Concha,  half  command,  half  interrogation. 

"  If  you  wish  it." 

"  You  may  be  wanted.  I  have  a  plan  —  a  little 
plan,"  and  he  gave  a  short  laugh.  "  It  may 
succeed." 

He  went  to  a  side-table,  where  some  cold  meats 


SWORDCRAFT  271 

still  stood,. and  taking  up  a  small  chicken  daintily 
with  a  fork,  he  folded  it  in  a  napkin. 

"  It  will  be  Saturday,"  he  said  simply,  «  before 
we  have  reached  our  journey's  end,  and  you  will 
be  hungry.      Have  you  a  pocket  ?  " 

"  Has  a  priest  a  pocket  ?  "  asked  Concha,  with 
a  grim  humour,  and  he  slipped  the  provisions  into 
the  folds  of  his  cassock.  He  was  still  eating  a 
biscuit  hurriedly. 

"  I  believe  you  have  no  money,"  said  the  gen- 
eral, suddenly. 

"  1  have  only  enough,"  admitted  the  old  man, 
"  to  take  me  back  to  Ronda,  whither,  by  the  way, 
my  duty  calls  me." 

"  I  think  not.  Your  Master  can  spare  you  for 
a  while  ;   my  mistress  cannot  do  without  you." 

At  this  moment  Estella  came  back  into  the 
room  ready  for  her  journey.  The  girl  had  changed 
of  late.  Her  face  had  lost  a  little  roundness  and 
had  gained  exceedingly  in  expression.  Her  eyes, 
too,  were  different.  That  change  had  come  to 
them  which  comes  to  all  women  between  the  ages 
of  twenty  and  thirty,  quite  irrespective  of  their 
state.  A  certain  restlessness  or  a  quiet  content 
are  what  one  usually  sees  in  a  woman's  face. 
Estella's  eyes  wore  that  latter  look,  which  seems 
to  indicate  a  knowledge  of  the  meaning  of  life 
and  a  contentment  that  it  should  be  no  different. 

Vincente  was  writing  at  the  table. 

"  We  shall  want  help,"  he  said,  without  looking 
up.     "  I  am  sending  for  a  good  man." 


272  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

And  he  smiled  as  he  shook  the  small  sand-caster 
over  the  paper. 

May  one  ask,"  said  Concha,  "where  we  are 


a 


going 
u 


We  are  going  to  Ciudad  Real,  my  dear  padre, 
since  you  are  so  curious ;  but  we  shall  come  back 
—  we  shall  come  back." 

He  was  writing  another  despatch  as  he  spoke, 
and  at  a  sign  from  him  Estella  went  to  the  door 
and  clapped  her  hands,  the  only  method  of  sum- 
moning a  servant  in  general  use  at  that  time  in 
Spain.  The  call  was  answered  by  an  orderly,  who 
stood  at  attention  in  the  doorway  for  a  full  five 
minutes  while  the  general  wrote  further  orders  in 
his  neat,  small  caligraphy.  There  were  half  a 
dozen  letters  in  all,  curt,  military  despatches,  with- 
out preamble  and  without  mercy,  for  this  soldier 
conducted  military  matters  in  a  singularly  domestic 
way,  planning  his  campaigns  by  the  fireside,  and 
bringing  about  the  downfall  of  an  enemy  while 
sitting  in  his  daughter's  drawing-room.  Indeed, 
Estella's  blotting-book  bore  the  impress  of  more 
than  one  death-warrant,  written  casually  on  her 
stationery  and  with  her  pen. 

"  Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  despatch  those 
at  once  ?  "  was  the  message  taken  by  the  orderly 
to  the  general's  aide-de-camp,  and  the  gallopers, 
who  were  always  in  readiness,  smiled  as  they  heard 
the  modest  request. 

"  It  will  be  pleasant  to  travel  in  the  cool  of  the 


SWORDCRAFT 


273 


evening,  provided  that  one  guards  against  a  chill," 
said  the  general,  making  his  final  preparations. 
"  I  require  but  a  moment  to  speak  to  my  faithful 
aide-de-camp,  and  then  we  embark." 

The  moon  was  rising  as  the  carriage  rattled 
across  the  bridge  of  Alcantara,  and  Larralde,  tak- 
ing the  air  between  Wamba's  Gate  and  the  little 
fort  that  guards  the  entrance  to  the  city,  recognised 
the  equipage  as  it  passed  him.  He  saw  also  the 
outline  of  Concha's  figure  in  the  darkest  corner 
of  the  carriage,  with  his  back  to  the  horses,  his 
head  bowed  in  meditation.  Estella  he  saw  and 
recognised,  while  two  mounted  attendants,  clatter- 
ing in  the  rear  of  the  carriage,  testified  by  their 
presence  to  the  fact  that  the  general  had  taken  the 
road  again. 

"  It  is  well,"  said  Larralde  to  himself.  "  They 
are  all  going  back  to  Ronda,  and  Julia  will  be  rid 
of  their  influence.  Ronda  will  serve  as  well  as 
Toledo  so  far  as  Vincente  is  concerned,  but  I  will 
wait,  to  make  sure  that  they  are  not  losing  sight  of 
him." 

So  Senor  Larralde,  cloaked  to  the  eyebrows, 
leant  gracefully  against  the  wall,  and,  like  many 
another  upon  the  bridge  after  that  breathless  day, 
drank  in  the  cool  air  that  rose  from  the  river. 
Presently,  indeed  before  the  sound  of  the  distant 
wheels  was  quite  lost,  two  horsemen,  cloaked  and 
provided  with  such  light  luggage  as  the  saddle  can 
accommodate,  rode  leisurely  through  the  gateway 

18 


274  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

and  up  the  incline  that  makes  a  short  cut  to  the  great 
road  running  southward  to  Ciudad  Real.  Larralde 
gave  a  little  nod  of  self-confidence  and  satisfaction, 
as  one  who,  having  conceived  and  built  up  a  great 
scheme,  is  pleased  to  see  each  component  part  of  it 
act  independently  and  slip  into  its  place. 

The  general's  first  thought  was  for  Estella's 
comfort,  and  he  utilised  the  long  hill,  which  they 
had  to  ascend  on  leaving  the  town,  to  make  such 
arrangements  as  space  would  allow  for  their  com- 
mon ease. 

"  You  must  sleep,  my  child,"  he  said.  "  We 
cannot  hope  to  reach  Ciudad  Real  before  midday 
to-morrow,  and  it  is  as  likely  as  not  that  we  shall 
have  but  a  few  hours'  rest  there." 

And  Estella,  who  had  travelled  vast  distances 
over  vile  roads  so  long  as  her  memory  went  back, 
who  had  never  known  what  it  is  to  live  in  a 
country  that  is  at  peace,  leant  back  in  her  corner 
and  closed  her  eyes.  Had  she  really  been  disposed 
to  sleep,  however,  she  could  scarcely  have  done  it, 
for  the  general's  solicitude  manifested  itself  by  a 
hundred  little  devices  for  her  greater  repose.  For 
her  comfort  he  made  Concha  move. 

"  An  old  traveller  like  you  must  shift  for  your- 
self," he  said  gaily. 

"  No  need  to  seek  shelter  for  an  old  ox,"  replied 
Concha,  moving  into  the  other  corner,  where  he 
carefully  unfolded  his  pocket-handkerchief,  and  laid 
it  over  his  face,  where,  his  long  nose  protruding, 


SWORDCRAFT  275 

caused  it  to  fall  In  fantastic  folds.  He  clasped  his 
hands  upon  his  hat,  which  lay  upon  his  knee,  and, 
leaning  back,  presently  began  to  snore  gently  and 
regularly,  a  peaceful,  sleep-inducing  sound,  and  an 
excellent  example.  The  general,  whose  sword 
seemed  to  take  up  half  the  carriage,  still  watched 
Estella,  and  if  the  air  made  her  mantilla  flutter, 
flew  to  the  window  with  the  solicitude  of  a  lover 
and  a  maternal  noiselessness.  Then,  with  one 
hand  on  hers  and  the  other  grasping  his  sword,  leant 
back,  but  did  not  close  his  eyes. 

Thus  they  travelled  on  through  the  luminous 
night.  The  roads  were  neither  worse  nor  better 
than  they  are  to-day  in  Spain,  than  they  were  in 
England  in  the  middle  ages,  and  their  way  lay  over 
the  hill  ranges  that  lie  between  the  watersheds  of 
the  Tagus  and  the  Guadiana.  At  times  they 
passed  through  well-tended  valleys,  where  corn  and 
olives  and  vines  seemed  to  grow  on  the  same  soil, 
but  for  the  greater  part  of  the  night  they  ascended 
and  descended  the  upper  slopes,  where  herds  of 
goats,  half  awakened  as  they  slept  in  a  ring  about 
their  guardian,  looked  at  them  with  startled  eyes. 
The  shepherds  and  goatherds,  who,  like  those  of 
old,  lay  cloaked  upon  the  ground  and  tended  their 
flocks  by  night,  did  not  trouble  to  raise  their 
heads. 

Concha  alone  slept,  for  the  general  had  a  thou- 
sand thoughts  that  kept  him  awake  and  bright-eyed, 
while  Estella  knew,  from  her  father's  manner  and 


276  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

restlessness,  that  these  were  no  small  events  that 
now  stirred  Spain  and  seemed  to  close  men's 
mouths,  so  that  near  friends  distrusted  one  another 
and  brother  was  divided  against  brother.  Indeed, 
others  were  on  the  road  that  night,  and  horsemen 
passed  the  heavy  carriage  from  time  to  time. 

In  the  early  morning  a  change  of  horses  was 
effected  at  a  large  inn  near  the  summit  of  a  pass 
above  Malagon,  and  here  an  orderly,  who  seemed 
to  recognise  the  general,  was  climbing  into  the  sad- 
dle as  the  Vincentes  quitted  their  carriage  and 
passed  into  the  common  room  of  the  venta  for  a 
hasty  cup  of  coffee. 

"  It  is  the  Queen's  courier,"  said  the  innkeeper, 
grandly,  "  who  takes  the  road  before  Her  Majesty, 
in  order  to  secure  horses." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  general,  breaking  his  bread  and 
dropping  it  into  his  cup  ;  "  is  that  so  ?  The 
Queen  Regent,  you  mean." 

"  Queen  or  Queen  Regent,  she  requires  four 
horses  this  evening,  excellency ;  that  is  all  my 
concern." 

"  True,  my  friend  —  true.  That  is  well  said. 
And  the  horses  will  be  forthcoming,  no  doubt  ?  " 

"  They  will  be  forthcoming,"  said  the  man ; 
"  and  the  excellency's  carriage  is  ready." 

In  the  early  morning  light  they  drove  on,  now 
descending  toward  the  great  valley  of  the  Guadi- 
ana,  and  at  midday,  as  Vincente  had  foreseen, 
gained  a  sight  of  the  ancient  city  of  Ciudad  Real, 
lying  amid  trees  below  them. 


SWORDCRAFT  277 

Ciudad  .Real  is  less  interesting  than  its  name, 
and  there  is  little  that  is  royal  about  its  dirty  streets 
and  ill-kept  houses.  No  one  gave  great  heed  to 
the  travelling-carriage,  for  this  is  a  great  centre, 
where  travellers  journeymg  east  or  west,  north  or 
south  must  needs  pause  for  a  change  of  horses. 
At  the  inn  there  were  vacant  rooms  and  that  hasty 
welcome  accorded  to  the  traveller  at  wayside 
houses,  where  none  stay  longer  than  they  can 
help. 

"  No,"  said  the  landlord,  in  answer  to  the  gen- 
eral's query  ;  "  we  are  not  busy,  though  we  expect 
a  lady,  who  will  pass  the  hour  of  the  siesta  here 
and  then  proceed  northward." 


CHAPTER   XXVI 


WOMANCRAFT 


"II  est  rare  que  la  tete  des  rois  soit  faite  a  la  mesure 
de  leur  couronne." 

In  the  best  room  of  the  inn,  where  Vincente  and 
his  tired  companions  sought  a  few  hours'  rest,  there 
sat  alone  and  in  thought  a  lady  of  middle  age. 
Somewhat  stout,  she  yet  had  that  air  which  arouses 
the  attention  without  being  worthy  of  the  name  of 
beauty.  This  lady  had,  doubtless,  swayed  men's 
hearts  by  a  word  or  a  glance,  for  she  still  carried 
herself  with  assurance,  and  a  hundred  little  details 
of  her  dress  would  have  told  another  woman  that 
she  still  desired  to  please. 

The  hour  of  the  siesta  was  over,  and  after  the 
great  heat  of  the  day  a  cool  air  was  swaying  down 
on  the  bosom  of  the  river  to  the  parched  lowlands. 
It  stirred  the  leaves  of  a  climbing  heliotrope,  which 
encircled  the  open  windows  and  wafted  into  the 
ill-furnished  room  a  scent  of  stable-yard  and  dust. 

The  lady,  sitting  with  her  chin  resting  in  the 
palm  of  her  small,  white  hand,  seemed  to  have 
lately  roused  herself  from  sleep,  and  now  had  the 
expectant  air  of  one  who  awaits  a  carriage  and  is 
about  to   set  out   on  a  long  journey.     Her   eyes 


WOMANCRAFT  279 

were  dark,  and  tired-looking,  and  their  expression 
was  not  that  of  a  good  woman.  A  sensual  man  is 
usually  weak,  but  women  are  different ;  and  this 
face,  with  its  faded  complexion  and  tired  eyes,  this 
woman  of  the  majestic  presence  and  beautiful 
hands,  was  both  strong  and  sensual.  This,  in  a 
word,  was  a  queen  who  never  forgot  that  she  was  a 
woman.  As  it  was  said  of  the  Princess  Christina, 
so  it  has  been  spoken  of  the  Queen,  that  many  had 
killed  themselves  for  hopeless  love  of  her,  for  this 
was  the  most  dangerous  of  the  world's  creatures,  a 
royal  coquette.  Such  would  our  own  Queen  Bess 
have  been,  had  not  God,  for  the  good  of  England, 
given  her  a  plain  face  and  an  ungainly  form,  for 
surely  the  devil  is  in  it  when  a  woman  can  com- 
mand both  love  and  men.  Queen  Christina,  since 
the  death  of  a  husband,  who  was  years  older  than 
herself  (and,  as  some  say,  before  that  historic  event), 
had  played  a  woman's  game  with  that  skill  which 
men  only  half  recognise,  and  had  played  it  with 
the  additional  incentive  that  behind  her  insatiable 
vanity  lay  the  heavier  stake  of  a  crown. 

She  is  not  the  first  to  turn  the  strong  current  of 
man's  passion  to  her  own  deliberate  gain  ;  nay, 
ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred  women  do  it.  But 
the  majority  only  play  for  a  suburban  villa  and  a 
few  hundred  pounds  a  year;  Queen  Christina  of 
Spain  handled  her  cards  for  a  throne  and  the  coun- 
tenance of  an  ill-starred  dynasty. 

As  she  sat  in  the  hotel  chamber  in  Ciudad  Real, 


28o  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

that  forlornest  of  royal  cities,  her  face  wore  the 
pettish  look  of  one  who,  having  passed  through 
great  events,  having  tasted  of  great  passions,  and 
moved  amid  the  machinery  of  life  and  death,  finds 
the  ordinary  routine  of  existence  intolerably  irk- 
some. Many  faces  wear  such  a  look  in  this  coun- 
try —  every  second  beautiful  face  in  London  has 
it.  And  these  women  —  Heaven  help  them  !  — 
find  the  morning  hours  dull  because  every  after- 
noon has  not  its  great  event,  and  every  evening 
the  hollow  excitement  of  a  social  function. 

The  Queen  was  travelling  incognita,  and  that 
fact  alone  robbed  her  progress  of  a  sense  of  excite- 
ment. She  had  to  do  without  the  shout  of  the 
multitude,  the  passing  admiration  of  the  man  in 
the  street.  She  knew  that  she  was  yet  many 
hours  removed  from  Madrid,  where  she  had  ad- 
mirers and  the  next  best  possession,  enemies. 
Ciudad  Real  was  intolerably  dull  and  provincial. 
A  servant  knocked  at  the  door. 

"General  Vincente,  your  Majesty,  craves  the 
favour  of  a  moment." 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  the  Queen,  the  light  return- 
ing to  her  eyes,  a  faint  colour  flushing  her  cheek. 
"  In  five  minutes  I  will  receive  him." 

And  there  is  no  need  to  say  how  the  Queen 
spent  those  minutes. 

«  Your  Majesty,"  said  the  general,  bending  over 
her  hand,  which  he  touched  with  his  lips,  "  I  have 
news  of  the  greatest  importance." 


WOMANCRAFT  281 

The  suggestion  of  a  scornful  smile  flickered  for 
a  moment  in  the  royal  eyes.  It  was  surely  enough 
for  any  man  that  she  was  a  woman,  beautiful  still, 
possessing  still  that  intangible  and  fatal  gift  of 
pleasing.  The  woman  slowly  faded  from  her  eyes 
as  they  rested  on  the  great  soldier's  face,  and  the 
Queen  it  was  who,  with  a  gracious  gesture,  bade 
him  be  seated.  But  the  general  remained  stand- 
ing. He  alone,  perhaps,  of  all  the  men  who  had 
to  deal  with  her,  of  all  those  military  puppets  with 
whom  she  played  her  royal  game,  had  never  crossed 
that  intangible  boundary  which  many  had  over- 
stepped to  their  own  inevitable  undoing. 

"  It  concerns  your  Majesty's  life,"  said  Vincente, 
bluntly,  and  calm  in  the  certainty  of  his  own 
theory  that  good  blood,  whether  it  flow  in  the 
veins  of  man  or  woman,  assuredly  carries  a  high 
courage. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  Queen  Regent,  whose  humour 
still  inclined  toward  those  affairs  which  interested 
her  before  the  affairs  of  State ;  "  but  with  men 
such  as  you  about  me,  my  dear  general,  what  need 
I  fear  ?  " 

"  Treachery,  madame,"  he  answered,  with  his 
sudden  smile  and  a  bow  —  "  treachery  ! ': 

The  lady  frowned.  When  a  Queen  stoops  to 
dalliance  a  subject  must  not  be  too  practical. 

"  Ah !  what  is  it  that  concerns  my  life  — ■ 
another  plot  ?  "  she  inquired  shortly. 

"Another  plot,  but  one  of  greater  importance 


282  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

than  those  that  exist  in  the  republican  cafes  of 
every  town  in  your  Majesty's  kingdom.  This  is 
a  wide-spread  conspiracy,  and  I  fear  that  many 
powerful  persons  are  concerned  in  it;  but  that, 
your  Majesty,  is  not  my  department  nor  concern." 

"  What  is  your  concern,  general  ?  "  she  asked, 
looking  at  him  over  her  fan. 

"  To  save  your  Majesty's  life  to-night." 

"  To-night !  "  she  echoed,  her  coquetry  gone. 

"  To-night." 

"  But  how  and  where  ?  " 

"  By  assassination,  madame,  in  Toledo.  You 
are  three  hours  late  in  your  journey,  but  all 
Toledo  will  be  astir,  awaiting  you,  though  it  be 
till  dawn." 

The  Queen  Regent  closed  her  fan  slowly.  She 
was,  as  the  rapid  events  of  her  reign  and  regency 
proved,  one  of  those  women  who  rise  to  the 
occasion. 

"  Then  one  must  act  at  once,"  she  said. 

The  general  bowed. 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  have  sent  to  Madrid  for  a  regiment  that  I 
know.  They  are  as  my  own  children.  I  have 
killed  so  many  of  them  that  the  remainder  love 
me.  I  have  travelled  from  Toledo  to  meet  your 
Majesty  on  the  road  here." 

"  And  what  means  have  you  of  preventing  this 
thing  ? " 

"  I  have  brought  the  means  with  me,  madame." 


WOMANCRAFT  283 

"  Troops  ?  "  asked  the  Queen,  doubtfully,  know- 
ing where  the  cankerworm  lay  hidden. 

"  A  woman  and  a  priest,  madame." 

"And  .  .  .  ?" 

"  And  I  propose  that  your  Majesty  journey  to 
Madrid  in  my  carriage,  attended  only  by  my  order- 
lies, by  way  of  Aranjuez.  You  will  be  safe  in 
Madrid,  where  the  Queen  will  require  her  mother's 
care." 

"  Yes  ;  and  the  remainder  of  your  plan  ?  " 

"  I  will  travel  back  to  Toledo  in  your  Majesty's 
carriage,  with  the  woman  and  the  priest  and  your 
bodyguard,  just  as  your  Majesty  is  in  the  habit  of 
travelling.  Toledo  wants  a  fight,  nothing  else  will 
satisfy  them.  They  shall  have  it  before  dawn  — 
the  very  best  I  have  to  offer  them." 

And  General  Vincente  gave  a  queer,  cheery 
little  laugh,  as  if  he  were  arranging  a  practical 
joke. 

"  But  the  fight  will  be  round  my  carriage." 

"  Possibly.  I  would  rather  that  it  took  place  in 
the  Calle  de  la  Ciudad  or  around  the  Casa  del 
Argantamiento,  where  your  Majesty  is  expected  to 
sleep  to-night." 

"  And  these  persons,  this  woman  who  risks  her 
life  to  save  mine,  who  is  she  ?  " 

"  My  daughter,"  answered  the  general,  gravely. 

"  She  is  here  in  the  hotel  now  ?  " 

The  general  bowed. 

"  I  have   heard  that   she  is  beautiful,"  said  the 


284  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 


Queen,  with  a  quick  glance  toward  her  companion. 
"  How  is  it  that  you  have  never  brought  her  to 
court,  you  who  come  so  seldom  yourself?  " 

Vincente  made  no  reply. 

"  However,  bring  her  to  me  now." 

"  She  has  travelled  far,  madame,  and  is  not  pre- 
pared for  presentation  to  her  Queen." 

"  This  is  no  time  for  formalities.  She  is  about 
to  run  a  great  risk  for  my  sake,  a  greater  risk  than 
I  could  ever  ask  her  to  run.  Present  her  as  one 
woman  to  another,  general." 

But  General  Vincente  bowed  gravely  and  made 
no  reply.  The  colour  slowly  rose  to  the  Queen 
Regent's  face,  a  dull,  shamed  red.  She  opened 
her  fan,  closed  it  again,  and  sat  with  furtive,  down- 
cast eyes.  Suddenly  she  looked  up  and  met  his 
gaze. 

"  You  refuse  !  "  she  said,  with  an  insolent  air  of 
indifference.  "  You  think  that  I  am  unworthy 
to  .  .   .  meet  your  daughter." 

"  I  think  only  of  the  exigency  of  the  moment," 
was  his  reply.  "  Every  minute  we  lose  is  a  gain 
to  our  enemies.  If  our  trick  is  discovered  Aran- 
juez  will  be  no  safer  for  your  Majesty  than  is 
Toledo.  You  must  be  safely  in  Madrid  before 
it  is  discovered  in  Toledo  that  you  have  taken  the 
other  route,  and  that  the  person  they  have  mis- 
taken for  you  is  in  reality  my  daughter." 

"  But  she  may  be  killed ! "  exclaimed  the 
Queen. 


WOMANCRAFT  285 


cc 


We  may  all  be  killed,  madame,"  he  replied 
lightly.  "  I  beg  that  you  will  start  at  once  in  my 
carriage,  with  your  chaplain  and  the  holy  lady  who 
is  doubtless  travelling  with  you." 

The  Queen  glanced  sharply  at  him.  It  was 
known  that,  although  her  own  life  was  anything 
but  exemplary,  she  loved  to  associate  with  women 
who,  under  the  cloak  of  religion  and  an  austere 
virtue,  intrigued  with  all  parties  and  condoned  the 
Queen's  offences. 

"  I  cannot  understand  you,"  she  said,  with  that 
sudden  lapse  into  familiarity  which  had  led  to  the 
undoing  of  more  than  one  ambitious  courtier; 
"  you  seem  to  worship  the  crown  and  despise  the 
head  it  rests  on." 

"  So  long  as  I  serve  your  Majesty  faithfully  ..." 

"  But  you  have  no  right  to  despise  me  !  "  she 
interrupted  passionately. 

"  If  I  despised  you  should  I  be  here  now,  should 
I  be  doing  you  this  service  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  tell  you  I  do  not  under- 
stand you." 

And  the  Queen  looked  hard  at  the  man  who  for 
this  very  reason  interested  one  who  had  all  her 
life  dealt  and  intrigued  with  men  of  obvious  motive 
and  unblushing  ambition. 

So  strong  is  a  ruling  passion,  that  even  in  sight 
of  death  (for  the  Queen  Regent  knew  that  Spain  was 
full  of  her  enemies  and  rendered  callous  to  blood- 
shed   by    a    long    war)    vanity    was    alert   in   this 


286  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

woman's  breast.  Even  while  General  Vincente, 
that  unrivalled  strategist,  detailed  his  plans,  she 
kept  harking  back  to  the  question  that  puzzled  her, 
and  but  half  listened  to  his  instructions. 

Those  desirous  of  travelling  without  attracting 
attention  in  Spain  are  wise  to  time  their  arrival  and 
departure  for  the  afternoon.  At  this  time,  while 
the  sun  is  yet  hot,  all  shutters  are  closed,  and  the 
business  of  life,  the  haggling  in  the  market-place, 
the  bustle  of  the  barrack-yard,  the  leisurely  labour 
of  the  fields  are  suspended.  It  was  about  four 
o'clock ;  indeed,  the  city  clocks  were  striking  that 
hour  when  the  two  carriages  in  the  inn  yard  at 
Ciudad  Real  were  made  ready  for  the  road. 
Father  Concha,  who  never  took  an  active  part  in 
passing  incidents  while  his  old  friend  and  comrade 
was  near,  sat  in  a  shady  corner  of  the  patio  and 
smoked  a  cigarette.  An  affable  ostler  had,  in  vain, 
endeavoured  to  engage  him  in  conversation.  Two 
small  children  had  begged  of  him,  and  now  he  was 
left  in  meditative  solitude. 

"  In  a  short  three  minutes,"  said  the  ostler, 
"  and  the  excellencies  can  then  depart.  In  which 
direction,  reverendo,  if  one  may  ask  ?  ' 

"  One  may  always  ask,  my  friend,"  replied  the 
priest.  "  Indeed,  the  holy  books  are  of  opinion 
that  it  cannot  be  overdone.  That  chin-strap  is 
too  tight." 

"  Ah  !  I  see  the  reverendo  knows  a  horse  .  .  ." 

"  And  an  ass,"  added  Concha. 


WOMANCRAFT  287 

At  this  •  moment  the  general  emerged  from  the 
shadow  of  the  staircase,  which  was  open  and  of 
stone.  He  was  followed  by  Estella,  as  it  would 
appear,  and  they  hurried  across  the  sunlighted 
patio,  the  girl  carrying  her  fan  to  screen  her  face. 

"  Are  you  rested,  my  child  ?  "  asked  Concha,  at 
the  carriage  door. 

The  lady  lowered  the  fan  for  a  moment  and  met 
his  eyes.  A  quick  look  of  surprise  flashed  across 
Concha's  face,  and  he  half  bowed.  Then  he 
repeated  his  question  in  a  louder  voice. 

"  Are  you  rested,  my  child,  after  our  long 
journey  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  my  father,  yes." 

And  the  ostler  watched  with  open-mouthed 
interest. 

The  other  carriage  had  been  drawn  up  to  that 
side  of  the  courtyard  where  the  open  stairway  was, 
and  here  also  the  bustle  of  departure  and  a  hurry- 
ing female  form,  anxious  to  gain  the  shade  of  the 
vehicle,  were  discernible.  It  was  all  done  so 
quickly,  with  such  a  military  completeness  of  de- 
tail, that  the  carriages  had  passed  through  the  great 
doorway,  and  the  troopers,  merely  a  general's  escort, 
had  clattered  after  them  before  the  few  onlookers 
had  fully  realised  that  these  were  surely  travellers 
of  some  note. 

The  ostler  hurried  to  the  street  to  watch  them  go. 

**  They  are  going  to  the  north,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, as  he  saw  the  carriages  turn  in  the  direction 


288  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

of  the  river  and  the  ancient  Puerta  de  Toledo  — 
"  they  go  to  the  north,  and  assuredly  the  general 
has  come  to  conduct  her  to  Toledo." 

Strange  to  say,  although  it  was  the  hour  of  rest, 
many  shutters  in  the  narrow  street  were  opened, 
and  more  than  one  peeping  face  was  turned  toward 
the  departing  carriages. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

A    NIGHT    JOURNEY 

"Let  me  but  bear  your  love,  I  '11  bear  your  cares." 

At  the  cross-roads,  on  the  northern  side  of  the 
river,  the  two  carriages  parted  company,  the  dusty 
equipage  of  General  Vincente  taking  the  road  to 
Aranjuez,  that  leads  to  the  right  and  mounts 
steadily  through  olive  groves.  The  other  car- 
riage, which,  despite  its  plain  and  sombre  colours, 
still  had  an  air  of  grandeur  and  almost  of  royalty, 
with  its  great  wheels  and  curved  springs,  turned  to 
the  left  and  headed  for  Toledo.  Behind  it  clat- 
tered a  dozen  troopers,  picked  men  with  huge, 
swinging  swords  and  travel-stained  clothes.  The 
dust  rose  in  a  cloud  under  the  horses'  feet  and 
hovered  in  the  sallow  air.  There  was  no  breath 
of  wind,  and  the  sun  shone  through  a  faint  haze, 
which  seemed  only  to  add  to  the  heat. 

Concha  lowered  the  window  and  thrust  forward 
his  long,  inquiring  nose. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  general. 

"  Thunder  ;  I  smell  it.  We  shall  have  a  storm 
to-night."  He  looked  out,  mopping  his  nose. 
"  Name  of  a  saint,  how  thick  the  air  is  !  " 

19 


290  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  It  will  be  clear  before  the  morning,"  said 
Vincente,  the  optimist. 

And  the  carriage  rattled  on  toward  the  city  of 
strife,  where  Jew,  Goth,  and  Roman,  Moor  and 
Inquisitor  have  all  had  their  day.  Estella  was  silent, 
drooping  with  fatigue.  The  general  alone  seemed 
unmoved  and  heedless  of  the  heat,  a  man  of  steel, 
as  bright  and  ready  as  his  own  sword. 

There  is  no  civilised  country  in  the  world  so  bare 
as  Spain,  and  no  part  of  the  Peninsula  so  sparsely 
populated  as  the  Castiles.  The  road  ran  for  the 
most  part  over  brown  and  barren  uplands,  with  here 
and  there  a  valley  where  wheat  and  olives  and  vine- 
yards graced  the  lower  slopes.  The  crying  need 
of  all  nature  was  for  shade,  for  the  ilex  is  a  small- 
leaved  tree,  giving  a  thin  shadow,  with  no  cool 
depths  amid  the  branches.  All  was  brown  and 
barren  and  parched.  The  earth  seemed  to  lie  faint- 
ing and  awaiting  the  rain.  The  horses  trotted 
with  extended  necks  and  open  mouths,  their  coats 
wet  with  sweat.  The  driver,  an  Andalusian,  with 
a  face  like  a  Moorish  pirate,  kept  encouraging 
them  with  word  and  rein,  jerking  and  whipping 
only  when  they  seemed  likely  to  fall  from  sheer 
fatigue  and  sun-weariness.  At  last  the  sun  set  in 
a  glow  like  that  of  a  great  furnace,  and  the  reflec- 
tion lay  over  the  land  in  ruddy  splendour. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Concha,  looking  out ;  "  it  will  be 
a  great  storm,  and  it  will  soon  come." 

Vast  columns  of  cloud  were  climbing  up  from 


A   NIGHT   JOURNEY  291 

the  sunset  into  a  sullen  sky,  thrown  up  in  spread- 
ing mare's-tails  by  a  hundred  contrary  gusts  of 
wind,  as  if  there  were  explosive  matter  in  the  great 
furnace  of  the  west. 

"  Nature  is  always  on  my  side,"  said  Vincente, 
with  his  chuckling  laugh.  He  sat,  watch  in  hand, 
noting  the  passage  of  the  kilometres. 

At  last  the  sun  went  down  behind  a  distant  line 
of  hill,  the  watershed  of  the  Tagus,  and  imme- 
diately the  air  was  cool.  Without  stopping,  the 
driver  wrapped  his  cloak  round  him,  and  the 
troopers  followed  his  example.  A  few  minutes 
later  a  cold  breeze  sprung  up  suddenly,  coming 
from  the  north  and  swirling  the  dust  high  in  the  air. 

"  It  is  well,"  said  Vincente,  who  assuredly  saw 
good  in  everything ;  "  the  wind  comes  first,  and 
therefore  the  storm  will  be  short." 

As  he  spoke  the  thunder  rolled  among  the  hills. 

"  It  is  almost  like  guns,"  he  added,  with  a  queer 
look  in  his  eyes  suggestive  of  some  memory. 

Then,  preceded  by  a  rushing  wind,  the  rain 
came,  turning  to  hail,  and  stopping  suddenly  in  a 
breathless  pause,  only  to  recommence  with  a  re- 
newed and  splashing  vigour.  Concha  drew  up 
the  windows,  and  the  water  streamed  down  them 
in  a  continuous  ripple.  Estella,  who  had  been 
sleeping,  roused  herself.  She  looked  fresh,  and 
her  eyes  were  bright  with  excitement.  She  had 
brought  home  with  her  from  her  English  school 
that  air  of  freshness    and   a   dainty  vigour  which 


292  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

makes  Englishwomen  different  from  all  other 
women  in  the  world,  and  an  English  school-girl 
assuredly  the  brightest,  purest,  and  sweetest  of 
God's  creatures. 

Concha  looked  at  her  with  his  grim  smile, 
amused  at  a  youthfulness  which  could  enable  her 
to  fall  asleep  at  such  a  time  and  wake  up  so  man- 
ifestly refreshed. 

A  halt  was  made  at  a  roadside  venta,  where  the 
travellers  partook  of  a  hurried  meal.  Darkness 
came  on  before  the  horses  were  sufficiently  rested, 
and  by  the  light  of  an  ill-smelling  lamp  the  general 
had  his  inevitable  cup  of  coffee.  The  rain  had 
now  ceased,  but  the  sky  remained  overcast,  and  the 
night  was  a  dark  one.  The  travellers  took  their 
places  in  the  carriage,  and  again  the  monopoly  of 
the  road,  the  steady  trot  of  the  horses,  the  sing- 
song words  of  encouragement  of  their  driver  mo- 
nopolised the  thoughts  of  sleepy  minds.  It  seemed 
to  Estella  that  life  was  all  journeys,  and  that  she 
had  been  on  the  road  for  years.  The  swing  of 
the  carriage,  the  little  varieties  of  the  road,  but 
served  to  add  to  her  somnolence.  She  only  half 
woke  up  when,  about  ten  o'clock,  a  halt  was  made 
to  change  horses,  and  the  general  quitted  the  car- 
riage for  a  few  minutes  to  talk  earnestly  with  two 
horsemen  who  were  apparently  awaiting  their 
arrival.  No  time  was  lost  here,  and  the  carriage 
went  forward  with  an  increased  escort.  The  two 
newcomers  rode  by  the  carriage,  one  on  either  side. 


A   NIGHT   JOURNEY  293 

When  Estella  woke  up  the  moon  had  risen,  and 
the  carriage  was  making  slow  progress  up  a  long 
hill.  She  noticed  that  a  horseman  was  on  either 
side,  close  by  the  carriage  window. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Conyngham,"  replied  the  general. 

"  You  sent  for  him  ?  "  inquired  Estella,  in  a  hard 
voice. 

«  Yes." 

Estella  was  wakeful  enough  now,  and  sat  upright, 
looking  straight  in  front  of  her.  At  times  she 
glanced  toward  the  window,  which  was  now  open, 
where  the  head  of  Conyngham's  charger  appeared. 
The  horse  trotted  steadily,  with  a  queer  jerk  of  the 
head,  and  that  willingness  to  do  his  best,  which 
gains  for  horses  a  place  in  the  hearts  of  all  who 
have  to  do  with  them. 

"  Will  there  be  righting  ? "  asked  Estella,  suddenly. 

The  general  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  One  cannot  call  it  fighting.  There  may  be  a 
disturbance  in  the  streets,"  he  answered. 

Concha,  quiet  in  his  corner,  with  his  back  to  the 
horses,  watched  the  girl,  and  saw  that  her  eyes  were 
wide  with  anxiety  now,  quite  suddenly,  she  who 
had  never  thought  of  fear  till  this  moment.  She 
moved  uneasily  in  her  seat,  fidgeting  as  the  young 
ever  do  when  troubled.  It  is  only  with  the  years 
that  we  learn  to  bear  a  burden  quietly. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  she  asked  shortly,  pointing  to 
the  other  window,  which  was  closed. 


294  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  Concepcion  Vara,  Conyngham's  servant," 
replied  the  general,  who  for  some  reason  was 
inclined  to  curtness  in  his  speech. 

They  were  approaching  Toledo,  and  passed 
through  a  village  from  time  to  time,  where  the 
cafes  were  still  lighted  up,  and  people  seemed  to 
be  astir  in  the  shadow  of  the  houses.  At  last,  in 
the  main  thoroughfare  of  a  larger  village,  within  a 
stage  of  Toledo,  a  final  halt  was  made  to  change 
horses.  The  street,  dimly  lighted  by  a  couple  of 
oil  lamps,  swinging  from  gibbets  at  the  corners  of 
a  cross-road,  seemed  to  be  peopled  by  shadows 
surreptitiously  lurking  in  doorways.  There  was  a 
false  air  of  quiet  in  the  houses,  and  peeping  eyes 
looked  out  from  the  bars  that  covered  every  win- 
dow, for  even  modern  Spanish  houses  are  barred, 
as  if  for  a  siege,  and  in  the  ancient  villages  every 
man's  house  is,  indeed,  his  castle. 

The  driver  had  left  the  box,  and  seemed  to  be 
having  some  trouble  with  the  ostlers  and  stable 
helps,  for  his  voice  could  be  heard  raised  in  anger, 
and  urging  them  to  greater  haste. 

Conyngham,  motionless  in  the  saddle,  touched 
his  horse  with  his  heel,  advancing  a  few  paces,  so 
as  to  screen  the  window.  Concepcion,  on  the 
other  side,  did  the  same,  so  that  the  travellers  in 
the  interior  of  the  vehicle  saw  but  the  dark  shape 
of  the  horses  and  the  long  cloaks  of  their  riders. 
They  could  perceive  Conyngham  quickly  throw 
back  his  cape  in  order  to  have  a  free  hand.     Then 


A   NIGHT   JOURNEY  295 

there  came  the  sound  of  scuffling  feet,  and  an 
indefinable  sense  of  strife  in  the  very  air. 

"  But  we  will  see — we  will  see  who  is  in  the 
carriage  !  "  cried  a  shrill  voice,  and  a  hoarse  shout 
from  many  bibulous  throats  confirmed  the  desire. 

"  Quick  !  "  said  Conyngham's  voice  —  "  quick  ! 
Take  your  reins ;   never  mind  the  lamps  !  " 

And  the  carriage  swayed  as  the  man  leapt  to  his 
place.  Estella  made  a  movement  to  look  out  of 
the  window,  but  Concha  had  stood  up  against  it, 
opposing  his  broad  back  alike  to  curious  glances 
or  a  knife  or  a  bullet.  At  the  other  window,  the 
general,  better  versed  in  such  matters,  held  the 
leather  cushion  upon  which  he  had  been  sitting 
across  the  sash.  With  his  left  hand  he  restrained 
Estella. 

"  Keep  still,"  he  said.  "  Sit  back.  Conyngham 
can  take  care  of  himself." 

The  carriage  swayed  forward,  and  a  volley  of 
stones  rattled  on  it  like  hail.  It  rose  jerkily  on 
one  side  and  bumped  over  some  obstacle. 

"  One  who  has  his  quietus,"  said  Concha. 
"  These  royal  carriages  are  heavy." 

The  horses  were  galloping  now.  Concha  sat 
down,  rubbing  his  back.  Conyngham  was  gallop- 
ing by  the  window,  and  they  could  see  his  spur 
flashing  in  the  moonlight  as  he  used  it.  The  reins 
hung  loose  and  both  his  hands  were  employed  else- 
where, for  he  had  a  man  half  across  the  saddle  in 
front  of  him,  who  held  to  him  with  one  arm  thrown 


296  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

round  his  neck,  while  the  other  was  raised  and  a 
gleam  of  steel  was  at  the  end  of  it.  Concepcion, 
from  the  other  side,  threw  a  knife  over  the  roof  of 
the  carriage  —  he  could  hit  a  cork  at  twenty  paces 
—  but  he  missed  this  time. 

The  general  from  within  leant  across  Estella, 
sword  in  hand,  with  gleaming  eyes.  But  Conyng- 
ham  seemed  to  have  got  the  hold  he  desired,  for 
his  assailant  came  suddenly  swinging  over  the  horse's 
neck,  and  one  of  his  flying  heels  crashed  through 
the  window  by  Concha's  head,  making  that  eccle- 
siastic swear  like  any  layman.  The  carriage  was 
lifted  on  one  side  again  and  bumped  heavily. 

"  Another,"  said  Concha,  looking  for  broken 
glass  in  the  folds  of  his  cassock.  "  That  is  a  pretty 
trick  of  Conyngham's." 

"  And  the  man  is  a  horseman,"  added  the  general, 
sheathing  his  sword  —  "a  horseman.  It  warms  the 
heart  to  see  it." 

Then  he  leant  out  of  the  window  and  asked  if 
any  were  hurt. 

" 1  am  afraid,  excellency,  that  I  hurt  one," 
answered  Vara  —  "  where  the  neck  joins  the  shoul- 
der. It  is  a  pretty  spot  for  the  knife,  nothing  to 
turn  a  point." 

He  rubbed  a  sulphur  match  on  the  leg  of  his 
trousers,  and  lighted  a  cigarette  as  he  rode  along. 

"  On  our  side  no  accidents,"  continued  Vara, 
with  a  careless  grandeur,  "  unless  the  reverendo 
received  a  kick  in  the  face." 


A   NIGHT   JOURNEY  297 

"  The  reverendo  received  a  stone  in  the  small  of 
the  back,"  growled  Concha,  pessimistically,  "  where 
there  was  already  a  corner  of  lumbago." 

Conyngham,  standing  in  his  stirrups,  was  looking 
back.  A  man  lay  motionless  on  the  road,  and 
beyond,  at  the  cross-roads,  another  was  riding  up  a 
hill  to  the  right  at  a  hard  gallop. 

"  It  is  the  road  to  Madrid,"  said  Concepcion, 
noting  the  direction  of  the  Englishman's  glance. 

The  general,  leaning  out  of  the  carriage  window, 
was  also  looking  back  anxiously. 

"  They  have  sent  a  messenger  to  Madrid,  excel- 
lency, with  the  news  that  the  Queen  is  on  the  road 
to  Toledo,"  said  Concepcion. 

"  It  is  well,"  answered  Vincente,  with  a  laugh. 

As  they  journeyed,  although  it  was  nearly  mid- 
night, there  appeared  from  time  to  time,  and  for 
the  most  part  in  the  neighbourhood  of  a  village, 
one  who  seemed  to  have  been  awaiting  their  pas- 
sage, and  immediately  set  out  on  foot  or  horseback 
by  one  of  the  shorter  bridle-paths  that  abound  in 
Spain.  No  one  of  these  spies  escaped  the  notice 
of  Concepcion,  whose  training  amid  the  mountains 
of  Andalusia  had  sharpened  his  eyesight  and  added 
keenness  to  every  sense. 

"  It  is  like  a  cat  walking  down  an  alley  full  of 
dogs,"  he  muttered. 

At  last  the  lights  of  Toledo  hove  in  sight,  and 
across  the  river  came  the  sound  of  the  city  clocks 
tolling  the  hour. 


298  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  Midnight,"  said  Concha,  "  and  all  respectable 
folk  are  in  their  beds.      At  night  all  cats  are  gray." 

No  one  heeded  him.  Estella  was  sitting  upright, 
bright-eyed  and  wakeful.  The  general  looked  out 
of  the  window  at  every  moment.  Across  the  river 
they  could  see  lights  moving,  and  many  houses  that 
had  been  illuminated  were  suddenly  dark. 

"  See,"  said  the  general,  leaning  out  of  the  win- 
dow and  speaking  to  Conyngham ;  "  they  have 
heard  the  sound  of  our  wheels." 

At  the  farther  end  of  the  Bridge  of  Alcantara, 
on  the  road  which  now  leads  to  the  railway  station, 
two  horsemen  were  stationed,  hidden  in  the  shadow 
of  the  trees  that  border  the  pathway. 

"  Those  should  be  guardia  civile"  said  Concep- 
cion,  who  had  studied  the  ways  of  these  gentry  all 
his  life,  "  but  they  are  not.  They  have  horses 
that  have  never  been  taught  to  stand  still." 

As  he  spoke  the  men  vanished,  moving  noise- 
lessly in  the  thick  dust  which  lay  on  the  Madrid 
road. 

The  general  saw  them  go  and  smiled.  These 
men  carried  word  to  their  fellows  in  Madrid  for 
the  seizure  of  the  little  Queen.  But  before  they 
could  reach  the  capital  the  Queen  Regent  herself 
would  be  there,  a  woman  in  a  thousand,  of  inflexible 
nerve,  of  infinite  resource. 

The  carriage  rattled  over  the  narrow  bridge, 
which  rings  hollow  to  the  sound  of  wheels.  It 
passed    under  the  gate  that  Wamba  built,  and  up 


A   NIGHT   JOURNEY  299 

the  tree-girt  incline  to  the  city.  The  streets  were 
deserted,  and  no  window  showed  a  light.  A  watch- 
man in  his  shelter  at  the  corner  by  the  synagogue 
peered  at  them  over  the  folds  of  his  cloak,  and 
noting  the  clank  of  scabbard  against  spur,  paid  no 
further  heed  to  a  traveller  who  took  the  road  with 
such  outward  signs  of  authority. 

"  It  is  still  enough  and  quiet,"  said  Concha, 
looking  out. 

"  As  quiet  as  a  watching  cat,"  replied  Vincente. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

THE    CITY    OF    STRIFE 

"  What  lot  is  mine, 
Whose  foresight  preaches  peace,  my  heart  so  slow 
To  feel  it?" 

Through  these  quiet  streets  the  party  clattered 
noisily  enough,  for  the  rain  had  left  the  round 
stones  slippery,  and  the  horses  were  too  tired  for 
a  sure  step.  There  were  no  lights  at  the  street 
corners,  for  these  had  been  extinguished  at  mid- 
night, and  the  only  glimmer  of  a  lamp  that  relieved 
the  darkness  was  shining  through  the  stained-glass 
windows  of  the  cathedral,  where  the  sacred  oil 
burnt  night  and  day. 

The  Queen  was  evidently  expected  at  the  Casa 
del  Ayuntamiento,  for  at  the  approach  of  the  car- 
riage the  great  doors  were  thrown  open  and  a 
number  of  servants  appeared  in  the  patio,  which 
was  but  dimly  lighted.  By  the  general's  orders 
the  small  bodyguard  passed  through  the  doors, 
which  were  then  closed,  instead  of  continuing  their 
way  to  the  barracks  in  the  Alcazar. 

This  Casa  del  Ayuntamiento  stands,  as  many 
travellers  know,  in  the  plaza  of  the  same  name, 
and  faces  the  cathedral,  which   is,  without  doubt, 


THE    CITY   OF   STRIFE  301 

the  oldest,  as  it  assuredly  is  the  most  beautiful 
church  in  the  world.  The  Mansion  House  of 
Toledo,  in  addition  to  some  palatial  halls,  which 
are  of  historic  renown,  has  several  suites  of  rooms, 
used  from  time  to  time  by  great  personages  passing 
through  or  visiting  the  city.  The  house  itself  is 
old,  as  we  esteem  age  in  England,  while  in  com- 
parison to  the  buildings  around  it  is  modern. 
Built,  however,  at  a  period  when  beauty  of  archi- 
tecture was  secondary  to  power  of  resistance,  the 
place  is  strong  enough,  and  General  Vincente 
smiled  happily  as  the  great  doors  were  closed.  He 
was  the  last  to  look  out  into  the  streets  and  across 
the  little  Plaza  del  Ayuntamiento,  which  was 
deserted  and  looked  peaceful  enough  in  the  light  of 
a  waning  moon. 

The  carriage  door  was  opened  by  a  lackey,  and 
Conyngham  gave  Estella  his  hand.  All  the  ser- 
vants bowed  as  she  passed  up  the  stairs,  her  face 
screened  by  the  folds  of  her  white  mantilla.  .  There 
was  a  queer  hush  in  the  great  house  and  in  the 
manner  of  the  servants.  The  cathedral  clock 
rang  out  the  half  hour.  The  general  led  the  way 
to  the  room  on  the  first  floor  that  overlooks  the 
Plaza  del  Ayuntamiento.  It  is  a  vast  apartment 
hung  with  tapestries  and  pictures,  such  as  men 
travel  many  miles  to  see.  The  windows,  which 
are  large  in  proportion  to  the  height  of  the  room, 
open  upon  a  stone  balcony,  which  runs  the  length 
of  the  house,  and  looks  down  upon  the  plaza  and 


302  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

across  this  to  the  great  facade  of  the  cathedral. 
Candles  hurriedly  lighted  made  the  room  into  a 
very  desert  of  shadows.  At  the  far  end  a  table 
was  spread  with  cold  meats,  and  lighted  by  high 
silver  candelabras. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Concha,  going  toward  the  supper- 
table. 

Estella  turned,  and  for  the  first  time  met  Con- 
yngham's  eyes.  His  face  startled  her,  it  was  so 
grave. 

"Were  you  hurt?"  she  asked  sharply. 

"  Not  this  time,  senorita." 

Then  she  turned  with  a  sudden  laugh  toward 
her  father. 

"  Did  I  play  my  part  well  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  my  child  ;  "  and  even  he  was  grave. 

"  Unless  I  am  mistaken,"  he  continued,  glanc- 
ing at  the  shuttered  windows,  « we  have  only 
begun  our  task."  He  was  reading  as  he  spoke 
some  despatches,  which  a  servant  had  handed  to 
him. 

"  There  is  one  advantage  in  a  soldier's  life,"  he 
said,  smiling  at  Conyngham,  "which  is  not,  I 
think,  sufficiently  recognised  —  namely,  that  one's 
duty  is  so  often  clearly  defined.  At  the  present 
moment  it  is  a  question  of  keeping  up  the  decep- 
tion we  have  practised  upon  these  good  people  of 
Toledo  sufficiently  long  to  enable  the  Queen 
Regent  to  reach  Madrid.  In  order  to  make  cer- 
tain of  this  we  must  lead  the  people  to  understand 


THE    CITY    OF    STRIFE  303 

that  the  Queen  is  in  this  house  until,  at  least,  day- 
light. Given  so  much  advantage,  I  think  that 
Her  Majesty  can  reach  the  capital  an  hour  before 
any  messenger  from  Toledo.  Two  horsemen 
quitted  the  bridge  of  Alcantara  as  we  crossed  it, 
riding  toward  Madrid,  but  they  will  not  reach  the 
capital.     I  have  seen  to  that." 

He  paused  and  walked  to  one  of  the  long  win- 
dows, which  he  opened.  The  outer  shutters  re- 
mained closed,  and  he  did  not  unbar  them,  but 
stood  listening. 

"  All  is  still  as  yet,"  he  said,  returning  to  the 
the  table,  where  Father  Concha  was  philosophically 
cutting  up  a  cold  chicken. 

"  That  is  a  good  idea  of  yours,"  he  said ;  "  we 
may  all  require  our  full  forces  of  mind  and  body 
before  the  dawn." 

He  drew  forward  a  chair,  and  Estella,  obeying 
his  gesture,  sat  down,  and  so  far  controlled  her 
feelings  as  to  eat  a  little. 

"  Do  queens  always  feed  on  old  birds,  such  as 
this  ?  "  asked  Concha,  discontentedly,  and  Vincente, 
spreading  out  his  napkin,  laughed  with  gay  good 
humour. 

"  Before  the  dawn,"  he  said  to  Conyngham, 
"  we  may  all  be  great  men,  and  the  good  padre 
here  on  the  high  road  to  a  bishopric." 

"  He  would  rather  be  in  bed,"  muttered  Concha, 
with  his  mouth  full. 

It  was  a  queer  scene,  such   as  we   only  act  i 


in 


304  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

real  life.  The  vast  room,  with  its  gorgeous  hang- 
ings, the  flickering  candles,  the  table  spread  with 
delicacies,  and  the  strange  party  seated  at  it ; 
Concha,  eating  steadily ;  the  general,  looking  round 
with  his  domesticated  little  smile ;  Estella,  with  a 
new  light  in  her  eyes  and  a  new  happiness  on  her 
face ;  Conyngham,  a  giant  among  these  Southern- 
ers, in  his  dust-laden  uniform,  —  all  made  up  a 
picture  that  none  forgot. 

"  They  will  probably  attack  this  place,"  said 
the  general,  pouring  out  a  glass  of  wine ;  "  but  the 
house  is  a  strong  one.  I  cannot  rely  on  the  regi- 
ments stationed  at  Toledo,  and  have  sent  to 
Madrid  for  cavalry.  There  is  nothing  like  cav- 
alry ...  in  the  streets.  We  can  stand  a  siege 
.   .   .  till  the  dawn." 

He  turned,  looking  over  his  shoulder  toward  the 
door,  for  he  had  heard  a  footstep,  unnoticed  by 
the  others.  It  was  Concepcion  Vara,  who  came 
into  the  room  coatless,  his  face  gray  with  dust, 
adding  a  startling  and  picturesque  incongruity  to 
the  scene. 

"  Pardon,  excellency,"  he  said,  with  that  easy 
grasp  of  the  situation,  which  always  made  an 
utterly  disconcerted  smuggler  of  him,  "  but  there 
is  one  in  the  house  whom,  I  think,  his  excellency 
should  speak  with." 

"Ah!" 

"  The  Senorita  Barenna." 

The  general  rose  from  the  table. 


THE   CITY   OF   STRIFE  305 

"  How  did  she  get  in  here  ?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

"  By  the  side  door  in  the  Calle  de  la  Ciudad. 
The  keeper  of  that  door,  excellency,  is  a  mule. 
The  Senorita  forced  him  to  admit  her.  The  sex 
can  do  so  much,"  he  added,  with  a  tolerant  shrug 
of  his  shoulders. 

"  And  the  other,  this  Larralde  ?  " 

Concepcion  raised  his  hand  with  outspread  fin- 
gers, and  shook  it  slowly  from  side  to  side,  from 
the  wrist,  with  the  palm  turned  toward  his  inter- 
locutor, which  seemed  to  indicate  that  the  subject 
was  an  unpleasant,  almost  an  indelicate  one. 

"  Larralde,  excellency,"  he  said,  "  is  one  of 
those  who  are  never  found  at  the  front.  He  will 
not  be  in  Toledo  to-night,  that  Larralde." 

"  Where  is  the  Senorita  Barenna  ? "  asked  the 
general. 

"  She  is  downstairs,  commanding  his  excellency's 
soldiers  to  let  her  pass." 

"  You  go  down,  my  friend,  and  bring  her  here. 
Then  take  that  door  yourself." 

Concepcion  bowed  ceremoniously  and  withdrew. 
He  might  have  been  an  ambassador,  and  his  salu- 
tation was  worthy  of  an  Imperial  Court. 

A  moment  later  Julia  Barenna  came  into  the 
room,  her  dark  eyes  wide  with  terror,  her  face  pale 
and  drawn. 

"  Where  is  the  Queen  Regent  ? "  she  asked, 
looking  from  one  face  to  the  other,  and  seeing  all 
her  foes  assembled  as  if  by  magic  before  her. 

20 


3o6  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  Her  Majesty  is  on  the  road  between  Aranjuez 
and  Madrid,  in  safety,  my  dear  Julia,"  replied  the 
general,  soothingly. 

"  But  they  think  she  is  here.  The  people  are 
in  the  streets.  Look  out  of  the  window.  They 
are  in  the  plaza." 

"  I  know  it,  my  dear,"  said  the  general. 

"  They  are  armed ;  they  are  going  to  attack 
this  house  .   .   ." 

"  I  am  aware  of  it." 

"  Their  plan  is  to  murder  the  Queen." 

"  So  we  understand,"  said  the  general,  gently. 
He  had  a  horror  of  anything  approaching  sen- 
sation or  a  scene,  a  feeling  which  Spaniards 
share  with  Englishmen.  "  That  is  the  Queen  for 
the  time  being,"  added  Vincente,  pointing  to 
Estella. 

Julia  stood  looking  from  one  to  the  other,  a  self- 
contained  woman  made  strong  by  love,  for  there 
is  nothing  in  life  or  human  experience  that  raises 
and  strengthens  man  or  woman  so  much  as  a  great 
and  abiding  love.  But  Julia  was  driven  and  almost 
panic-stricken.  She  held  herself  in  control  by  an 
effort  that  was  drawing  lines  in  her  face  never  to 
be  wiped  out. 

"  But  you  will  tell  them.  I  will  do  it.  Let 
me  go  to  them.      I  am  not  afraid." 

"No  one  must  leave  this  house  now,"  said  the 
general.  "  You  have  come  to  us,  my  dear,  you 
must  now  throw  in  your  lot  with  ours." 


THE   CITY   OF   STRIFE  307 

"  But  Estella  must  not  take  this  risk  ! "  ex- 
claimed   Julia.     "  Let   me  do   it." 

And  some  woman's  instinct  sent  her  to  Estella's 
side,  two  women  alone  in  that  great  house  amid 
this  man's  work  and  strife  of  reckless  politicians. 

"  And  you  and  Senor  Conyngham,"  she  cried  j 
tc  you  must  not  run  this  great  risk." 

"  It  is  what  we  are  paid  for,  my  dear  Julia," 
answered  the  general,  holding  out  his  arm  and  indi- 
cating the  gold  stripes  upon  it. 

He  walked  to  the  window  and  opened  the  mas- 
sive shutters,  which  swung  back  heavily.  Then 
he  stepped  out  on  to  the  balcony  without  fear  or 
hesitation. 

"  See,"  he  said,  "  the  square  is  full  of  them." 

He  came  back  into  the  room,  and  Conyngham, 
standing  beside  him,  looked  down  into  the  moonlit 
plaza.  The  square  was,  indeed,  thronged  with 
dark  and  silent  shadows,  while  others,  stealing 
from  the  doorways  and  narrow  alleys,  with  which 
Toledo  abounded,  joined  the  group  with  stealthy 
steps.  No  one  spoke,  though  the  sound  of  their 
whispering  arose  in  the  still  night-air  like  the  mur- 
mur of  a  breeze  through  reeds.  A  hundred  faces 
peered  upward  through  the  darkness  at  the  two 
intrepid   figures  on  the  balcony. 

"  And  these  are  Spaniards,  my  dear  Conyng- 
ham," whispered  the  general  —  "a  hundred  of 
them  against  one  woman.  Name  of  God,  I  blush 
for  them  !  " 


308  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

The  throng  increased  every  moment,  and  witha! 
the  silence  never  lifted,  but  brooded  breathlessly 
over  the  ancient  town.  Instead  of  living  men, 
these  might  well  have  been  the  shades  of  the 
countless  and  forgotten  dead,  who  had  come  to 
a  violent  end  in  the  streets  of  a  city  where  Peace 
has  never  found  a  home  since  the  days  of 
Nebuchadnezzar. 

Vincente  came  back  into  the  room,  leaving 
shutter  and  window  open. 

"  They  cannot  see  in,"  he  said,  "  the  building 
is  too  high.  And  across  the  plaza  there  is  noth- 
ing but  the  cathedral,  which  has  no  windows 
accessible  without  ladders." 

He  paused,  looking  at  his  watch. 

"  They  are  in  doubt,"  he  said,  speaking  to 
Conyngham,  "  they  are  not  sure  that  the  Queen 
is  here.  We  will  keep  them  in  doubt  for  a  short 
time.  Every  minute  lost  by  them  is  an  inesti- 
mable gain  to  us.  That  open  window  will  whet 
their  curiosity,  and  give  them  something  to  whis- 
per about.      It  is  so  easy  to  deceive  a  crowd." 

He  sat  down  and  began  to  peel  a  peach.  Julia 
looked  at  him,  wondering  wherein  this  man's 
greatness  lay,  and  yet  perceiving  dimly  that  against 
such  as  he  men  like  Esteban  Larralde  could  do 
nothing. 

Concha,  having  supped  satisfactorily,  was  now 
sitting  back  in  his  chair,  seeking  for  something 
in  the  pockets  of  his  cassock. 


THE    CITY   OF   STRIFE  309 

"  It  is  to  be  presumed,"  he  said,  "  that  one  may 
smoke,  even  in  a  palace." 

And  under  their  gaze  he  quietly  lighted  a  cigar- 
ette, with  the  deliberation  of  one  in  whom  a  long 
solitary  life  had  bred  habits  only  to  be  broken  at 
last  by  death. 

Presently  the  general  rose  and  went  to  the  win- 
dow again. 

"They  are  still  doubtful,"  he  said,  returning, 
"  and  I  think  their  numbers  have  decreased.  We 
cannot  allow  them  to  disperse." 

He  paused,  thinking  deeply. 

"  My  child,"  he  said  suddenly  to  Estella,  "  you 
must  show  yourself  on  the  balcony." 

Estella  rose  at  once,  but  Julia  held  her  back. 

"  No,"  she  said ;  "  let  me  do  it.  Give  me  the 
white  mantilla." 

There  was  a  momentary  silence,  while  Estella 
freed  herself  from  her  cousin's  grasp.  Conyng- 
ham  looked  at  the  woman  he  loved  while  she  stood, 
little  more  than  a  child,  with  something  youthful 
and  inimitably  graceful  in  the  lines  of  her  throat 
and  averted  face.  Would  she  accept  Julia's  offer  ? 
Conyngham  bit  his  lips  and  awaited  her  decision. 
Then,  as  if  divining  his  thought,  she  turned  and 
looked  at  him  gravely. 

"  No,"  she  said  ;  "  I  will  do  it." 

She  went  toward  the  window.  Her  father  and 
Conyngham  had  taken  their  places,  one  on  each 
side,  as  if  she  were  the  Queen  indeed.     She  stood 


3io  IN   KEDAR'S   TENTS 

for  a  moment  on  the  threshold,  and  then  passed 
out  into  the  moonlight  alone.  Immediately  there 
arose  the  most  terrifying  of  all  earthly  sounds,  the 
dull,  antagonistic  roar  of  a  thousand  angry  throats. 
Estella  walked  to  the  front  of  the  balcony  and 
stood,  with  an  intrepidity  which  was  worthy  of 
the  royal  woman  whose  part  she  played,  look- 
ing down  on  the  upturned  faces.  A  red  flash 
streaked  the  darkness  of  a  far  corner  of  the  square, 
and  a  bullet  whistled  through  the  open  window 
into  the  wood-work  of  a   mirror. 

"  Come  back,"  whispered  General  Vincente. 
"  Slowly,  my  child,  slowly." 

Estella  stood  for  a  moment  looking  down  with 
a  royal  insolence,  then  turned,  and  with  measured 
steps  approached  the  window.  As  she  passed  in 
she  met  Conyngham's  eyes,  and  that  one  moment 
assuredly  made  two  lives  worth  living. 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

MIDNIGHT    AND    DAWN 

"  I  have  set  my  life  upon  a  cast, 
And  I  will  stand  the  hazard  of  the  die." 

"  Excellency,"  reported  a  man,  who  entered  the 
room  at  this  moment,  "  they  are  bringing  carts 
of  fuel  through  the  Calle  de  la  Ciudad  to  set 
against  the  door  and  burn  it." 

"  To  set  against  which  door,  my  honest  friend  ?" 

"  The  great  door  on  the  plaza,  excellency. 
The  other  is  an  old  door  of  iron." 

"  And  they  cannot  burn  it  or  break  it  open  ?  " 

"  No,  excellency  ;  and,  besides,  there  are  loop- 
holes in  the  thickness  of  the  wall  at  the  side." 

The  general  smiled  on  this  man  as  being  after 
his  own  heart. 

"  One  may  not  shoot  to-night,  my  friend.  I 
have  already  given  the  order." 

"  But  one  may  prick  them  with  the  sword, 
excellency,"  suggested  the  trooper,  with  a  sort  of 
suppressed   enthusiasm. 

The  general  shrugged  his  shoulders,  wisely 
tolerant. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  answered  ;  "  I  suppose  one  may 
prick  them  with  the  sword." 


3i2  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

Conyngham,  who  had  been  standing  half  in  and 
half  out  of  the  open  window  listening  to  this  con- 
versation, now  came  forward. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  "  that  I  can  clear  the  plaza 
from  time  to  time  if  you  give  me  twenty  men. 
We  can  thus  gain  time." 

"  Street-fighting,"  answered  the  general,  gravely, 
"  do  you  know  anything  of  it  ?      It  is  nasty  work." 

"  I  know  something  of  it.  One  has  to  shout 
very  loud.     I  studied  it  at  Dublin  University." 

"  To  be  sure  ;   I  forgot." 

Julia  and  Estella  watched  and  listened.  Their 
lot  had  been  cast  in  the  paths  of  war,  and  since 
childhood  they  had  remembered  naught  else.  But 
neither  had  yet  been  so  near  to  the  work,  nor 
had  they  seen  and  heard  men  talk  and  plan  with  a 
certain  grim  humour,  a  curt  and  deliberate  scorn 
of  haste  or  excitement,  as  these  men  spoke  and 
planned  now.  Conyngham  and  Concepcion  Vara 
were  altered  by  these  circumstances  —  there  was 
a  light  in  their  eyes  which  women  rarely  see ; 
but  the  general  was  the  same  little  man  of  peace 
and  of  high  domestic  virtue,  who  seemed  embar- 
rassed by  a  sword  which  was  obviously  too  big  for 
him.  Yet  in  all  their  voices  there  rang  a  queer 
note  of  exultation,  for  man  is  a  fighting  animal, 
and  (from  St.  Paul  down  to  the  humblest  little 
five-foot-one  "  recruit ")  would  find  life  a  dull 
affair  were  there   no   strife   in   it. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  general,  after  a  moment's  renec- 


MIDNIGHT   AND    DAWN         313 

tion,  "  that  is  a  good  idea,  and  will  gain  time.  But 
let  them  first  bring  their  fuel  and  set  it  up.  Every 
moment  is  a  gain." 

At  this  instant  some  humourist  in  the  crowd 
threw  a  stone  in  at  the  open  window.  The  old 
priest  picked  up  the  missile  and  examined  it 
curiously. 

"  It  is  fortunate,"  he  said,  "  that  the  stones  are 
fixed  in  Toledo.  In  Xeres  they  are  loose  and 
always  in  the  air.  I  wonder  if  I  can  hit  a 
citizen." 

And  he  threw  the  stone  back. 

"  Close  the  shutters,"  said  the  general.  "  Let 
us  avoid  arousing  ill-feeling." 

The  priest  drew  the  jalousies  together,  but  did 
not  quite  shut  them.  Vincente  stood  and  looked 
out  through  the  aperture  at  the  moonlit  square  and 
the  dark  shadows  moving  there. 

"  I  wish  they  would  shout,"  he  said  ;  "  it  is  un- 
natural. They  are  like  children.  When  there  is 
noise  there  is  little  mischief." 

Then  he  remained  silent  for  some  minutes, 
watching  intently.  All  in  the  room  noted  his 
every  movement.  At  length  he  turned  on  his 
heel. 

"  Go,  my  friend,"  he  said  to  Conyngham ; 
"  form  your  men  in  the  Calle  de  la  Ciudad,  and 
charge  round  in  line.  Do  not  place  yourself  too 
much  in  advance  of  your  men,  or  you  will  be 
killed,  and  remember  the  point.  Resist  the  tempta- 
tion to  cut  —  the  point  is  best." 


3H  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

He  patted  Conyngham  on  the  arm  affectionately, 
as  if  he  were  sending  him  to  bed  with  a  good  wish, 
and  accompanied  him  to  the  door. 

"  I  knew,"  he  said,  returning  to  the  window  and 
rubbing  his  hands  together,  "  that  that  was  a  good 
man  the  first  moment  I  saw  him." 

He  glanced  at  Estella,  and  then,  turning,  opened 
another  window,  setting  the  shutters  ajar,  so  as  to 
make  a  second  point  of  observation. 

"My  poor  child,"  he  whispered,  as  she  went  to 
the  window  and  looked  out,  "  it  is  an  ill  fortune  to 
have  to  do  with  men  whose  trade  this  is."  Estella 
smiled  a  little  whitely  and  said  nothing.  The 
moon  was  now  shining  from  an  almost  cloudless 
sky.  The  few  fleecy  remains  of  the  storm  sailing 
toward  the  east  only  added  brightness  to  the  night. 
It  was  almost  possible  to  see  the  faces  of  the  men 
moving  in  the  square  below,  and  to  read  their  ex- 
pressions. The  majority  stood  in  a  group  in  th-; 
centre  of  the  plaza,  while  a  daring  few,  reckoning 
on  the  Spanish  aversion  to  firearms,  ran  forward 
from  time  to  time  and  set  a  bundle  of  wood  or 
straw  against  the  door  beneath  the  balcony. 

Some,  who  appeared  to  be  the  leaders,  looked 
up  constantly  and  curiously  at  the  windows,  won- 
dering if  any  resistance  would  be  made.  Had  they 
known  that  General  Vincente  was  in  that  silent 
house,  they  would  probably  have  gone  home  to 
bed,  and  the  crowd  would  have  dispersed  like 
smoke. 


MIDNIGHT   AND    DAWN         315 

Suddenly  there  arose  a  roar  to  the  right  hand  of 
the  square,  where  the  Calle  de  la  Ciudad  was  sit- 
uated, and  Conyngham  appeared  for  a  moment 
alone,  running  toward  the  group  with  the  moonlight 
flashing  on  his  sword.  At  his  heels  an  instant 
later  a  single  line  of  men  swung  round  the  corner 
and  charged  across  the  square. 

"  Dear,  dear,"  muttered  the  general ;  "  too 
quick,  my  friend,  too  quick  !  " 

For  Conyngham  was  already  among  the  crowd, 
which  broke  and  swayed  back  toward  the  cathedral. 
He  paused  for  a  moment  to  draw  his  sword  out  of 
a  dark  form  that  lay  upon  the  ground,  as  a  cricketer 
draws  a  stump.  He  had  at  all  events  remembered 
the  point.  The  troopers  swept  across  the  square 
like  a  broom,  sending  the  people  as  dust  before 
them,  and  leaving  the  clear,  moonlit  square  behind. 
They  also  left  behind  one  or  two  shadows,  lying 
stark  upon  the  ground.  One  of  these  got  upon 
his  hands  and  knees,  and  crawled  painfully  away, 
all  one-sided,  like  a  beetle  that  has  been  trodden 
underfoot.  Those  watching  from  the  windows 
saw,  with  a  gasp  of  horror,  that  part  of  him  — 
part  of  an  arm  —  had  been  left  behind,  and  a  sigh 
of  relief  went  up  when  he  stopped  crawling  and 
lay  quite  still. 

The  troopers  were  now  retreating  slowly  toward 
the  Calle  de  la  Ciudad. 

"  Be  careful,  Conyngham  !  "  shouted  the  general 
from  the  balcony  ;  "  they  will  return." 


3i6  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

And  as  he  spoke  a  rattling  fire  was  opened  upon 
them  from  the  far  corner  of  the  square,  where  the 
crowd  had  taken  refuge  in  the  opening  of  the  Calle 
del  Aico.  Immediately  the  people,  having  noted 
that  the  troopers  were  few  in  number,  charged 
down  upon  them.  The  men  fought  in  line,  retreat- 
ing step  by  step,  their  swords  gleaming  in  the 
moonlight.  Estella,  hearing  footsteps  in  the  room 
behind  her,  turned  in  time  to  see  her  father  dis- 
appearing through  the  doorway.  Concepcion  Vara, 
coatless,  as  he  loved  to  work,  his  white  shirt- 
sleeves fluttering  as  his  arm  swung,  had  now 
joined  the  troopers,  and  was  fighting  by  Conyng- 
ham's  side. 

Estella  and  Julia  were  out  on  the  balcony  now, 
leaning  over  and  forgetting  all  but  the  breathless 
interest  of  battle.  Concha  stood  beside  them,  mut- 
tering and  cursing  like  any  soldier. 

They  saw  Vincente  appear  at  the  corner  of  the 
Calle  de  la  Ciudad  and  throw  away  his  scabbard  as 
he  ran. 

"  Now,  my  children  !  "  he  cried,  in  a  voice  that 
Estella  had  never  heard  before,  which  rang  out 
across  the  square,  and  was  answered  by  a  yell  that 
was  nothing  but  a  cry  of  sheer  delight.  The 
crowd  swayed  back  as  if  before  a  gust  of  wind,  and 
the  general,  following  it,  seemed  to  clear  a  space 
for  himself,  as  a  reaper  clears  away  the  standing 
corn  before  him.  It  was,  however,  only  for  a  mo- 
ment.    The   crowd    surged   back,   those   in   front 


MIDNIGHT   AND    DAWN 


3X7 


against  their  will,  and   on   to   the   glittering  steel, 
those  behind  shouting  encouragement. 

"  Caramba  !  "  shouted  Concha,  and  was  gone. 

They  saw  him  a  minute  later  appear  in  the 
square,  having  thrown  aside  his  cassock.  He  made 
a  strange,  lean  figure  of  a  man,  with  his  knee- 
breeches  and  dingy  purple  stockings,  his  gray  flan- 
nel shirt,  and  the  moonlight  shining  on  his  tonsured 
head.  He  fought  without  skill  and  heedless  of 
danger,  swinging  a  great  sword  that  he  had  picked 
up  from  the  hand  of  a  fallen  trooper,  and  each 
blow  that  he  got  home  killed  its  man.  The  mettle 
of  the  man  had  suddenly  shown  itself  after  years  of 
suppression.  This,  as  Vincente  had  laughingly 
said,  was  no  priest,  but  a  soldier. 

Concepcion,  in  the  thick  of  it,  using  the  knife 
now  with  a  deadly  skill,  looked  over  his  shoulder 
and  laughed.  Suddenly  the  crowd  swayed.  The 
faint  sound  of  a  distant  bugle  came  to  the  ears  of 
all. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  shouted  Concha,  in  English  — 
"  it  is  nothing !  It  is  I  who  sent  the  bugler 
round." 

And  his  great  sword  whistled  into  a  man's  brain. 
In  a  moment  the  square  was  empty,  for  the  politi- 
cians who  came  to  murder  a  woman  had  had 
enough  steel.  The  sound  of  the  bugle,  intimating, 
as  they  supposed,  the  arrival  of  troops,  completed 
the  work  of  demoralisation  which  the  recognition 
of  General  Vincente  had  begun. 


3i8  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

The  little  party,  the  few  defenders  of  the  Casa 
del  Ayuntamiento,  were  left  in  some  confusion  in 
the  plaza,  and  Estella  saw,  with  a  sudden  cold  fear, 
that  Conyngham  and  Concha  were  on  their  knees 
in  the  midst  of  a  little  group  of  hesitating  men.  It 
was  Concha  who  first  rose  and  held  up  his  hand  to 
the  watchers  on  the  balcony,  bidding  them  stay 
where  they  were.  Then  Conyngham  rose  to  his 
feet,  slowly,  as  one  bearing  a  burden.  Estella 
looked  down  in  a  sort  of  dream  and  saw  her  lover 
carrying  her  father  toward  the  house,  her  mind 
only  half  comprehending,  in  the  semi-dreamlike 
reception  of  sudden  calamity,  which  is  one  of 
Heaven's  deepest  mercies. 

It  was  Concepcion  who  came  into  the  room 
first,  his  white  shirt  dyed  with  blood  in  great 
patches,  like  the  colour  on  a  piebald  horse.  A  cut 
in  his  cheek  was  slowly  dripping.  He  went 
straight  to  a  sofa  covered  in  gorgeous  yellow  satin 
and  set  the  cushions  in  order. 

"  Senorita,  .  .  ."  he  said,  and  spread  out  his 
hands.  The  tears  were  in  his  eyes.  "  Half  of 
Spain,"  he  added,  "  would  rather  that  it  had  been 
the  Queen,  and  the  world  is  poorer." 

A  minute  later  Concha  came  into  the  room 
dragging  on  his  cassock. 

"  My  child,  we  are  in  God's  hands,"  he  said, 
with  a  break  in  his  gruff  voice. 

And  then  came  the  heavy  step  of  one  carrying 
sorrow. 


MIDNIGHT   AND    DAWN         319 

Conyngham  laid  his  burden  on  the  sofa.  Gen- 
eral Vincente  was  holding  his  handkerchief  to  his 
side,  and  his  eyes,  which  had  a  thoughtful  look, 
saw  only  Estella's  face. 

"  I  have  sent  for  a  doctor,"  said  Conyngham ; 
"  your  father  is  wounded." 

"  Yes,"  added  Vincente,  immediately,  "  but  I 
am  in  no  pain,  my  dear  child.  There  is  no  rea- 
son, surely,  for  us  to  distress  ourselves." 

He  looked  round  and  smiled. 

"  And  this  good  Conyngham,"  he  added,  "  car- 
ried me  like  a  child." 

Julia  was  on  her  knees  at  the  foot  of  the  sofa, 
her  face  hidden  in  her  hands. 

"  My  dear  Julia,"  he  said,  "  why  this  distress  ?  " 

"  Because  all  of  this  is  my  doing,"  she  answered, 
lifting  her  drawn  and  terror-stricken  face. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Vincente,  with  a  characteristic 
pleasantry ;  "  you  take  too  much  upon  yourself. 
All  these  things  are  written  down  for  us  before- 
hand. We  only  add  the  punctuation,  delaying  a 
little  or  hurrying  a  little." 

They  looked  at  him  silently,  and  assuredly  none 
could  mistake  the  shadows  that  were  gathering  on 
his  face.  Estella,  who  was  holding  his  hand, 
knelt  on  the  floor  by  his  side,  quiet  and  strong, 
offering  silently  that  sympathy  which  is  woman's 
greatest  gift. 

Concepcion,  who  perhaps  knew  more  of  this 
matter  than    any    present,  looked   at    Concha  and 


320  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

shook  his  head.  The  priest  was  buttoning  his 
cassock,  and  began  to  seek  something  in  his  pocket. 

"  Your  breviary  ?  "  whispered  Concepcion  ;  "  I 
saw  it  lying  out  there  among  the  dead." 

"  It  is  a  comfort  to  have  one's  duty  clearly 
defined,"  said  the  general,  suddenly  in  a  clear  voice 
—  he  was  evidently  addressing  Conyngham  —  "  one 
of  the  advantages  of  a  military  life.  We  have 
done  our  best,  and  this  time  we  have  succeeded. 
But  ...  it  is  only  deferred.  It  will  come  at 
length,  and  Spain  will  be  a  republic.  It  is  a  failing 
cause  .  .  .  because  at  the  head  of  it  ...  is  a 
bad  woman." 

Conyngham  nodded,  but  no  one  spoke.  No 
one  seemed  capable  of  following  his  thoughts. 
Already  he  seemed  to  look  at  them  as  from  a  dis- 
tance, as  if  he  had  started  on  a  journey  and  was 
looking  back.  During  this  silence  there  came  a 
great  clatter  in  the  streets,  and  a  sharp  voice  cried, 
"  Halt !  "  The  general  turned  his  eyes  toward  the 
window. 

"  The  cavalry,"  said  Conyngham,  "  from 
Madrid." 

"  I  did  not  expect  .  .  .  them,  .  .  ."  said 
Vincente,  slowly,  "  before  the  dawn." 

The  sound  of  the  horses'  feet  and  the  clatter  of 
arms  died  away  as  the  troop  passed  on  toward  the 
Calle  de  la  Ciudad,  and  the  quiet  of  night  was  again 
unbroken. 

Then  Concha,  getting  down  on  to  his  knees,  began 


MIDNIGHT   AND    DAWN         321 

reciting  from  memory  the  office,  which,  alas  !  he 
knew  too  well. 

When  it  was  finished  and  the  gruff  voice  died 
away,  Vincente  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Every  man  to  his  trade,"  he  said,  with  a  little 
laugh. 

Then  he  suddenly  made  a  grimace. 

"  A  twinge  of  pain,"  he  said  deprecatingly,  as  if 
apologising  for  giving  them  the  sorrow  of  seeing  it ; 
"  it  will  pass  .  .  .  before  the  dawn." 

Presently  he  opened  his  eyes  again  and  smiled  at 
Estella  before  he  moved,  with  a  tired  sigh,  and 
turned  his  face  toward  that  dawn  which  knows  no 
eventide. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE    DAWN    OF    PEACE 
"  Quien  no  ama,  no  vive." 

The  fall  of  Morella  had  proved  to  be,  as  many 
anticipated,  the  knell  of  the  Carlist  cause.  Cabrera, 
that  great  general  and  consummate  leader,  followed 
Don  Carlos,  who  had,  months  earlier,  fled  to  France. 
General  Espartero,  a  man  made  and  strengthened 
by  circumstances,  was  now  at  the  height  of  his 
fame,  and  for  the  moment  peace  seemed  to  be 
assured  to  Spain.  It  was  now  a  struggle  between 
Espartero  and  Queen  Christina,  but  with  these 
matters  the  people  of  Spain  had  little  to  do.  Such 
warfare  of  the  council  chamber  and  the  boudoir  is 
carried  on  quietly,  and  the  sound  of  it  rarely  reaches 
the  ear  and  never  the  heart  of  the  masses.  Politics, 
indeed,  had  been  the  daily  fare  of  the  Spaniards  for 
so  long  that  their  palates  were  now  prepared  to 
accept  any  sop,  so  long  as  it  was  flavoured  with 
peace.  Aragon  was  devastated,  and  the  northern 
provinces  had  neither  seed  nor  labourers  for  the 
coming  autumn.  The  peasants,  who,  having  lost 
faith  in  Don  Carlos,  rallied  round  Cabrera,  now  saw 
themselves  abandoned  by  their  worshipped  leader, 


THE   DAWN    OF   PEACE  323 

and  turned  hopelessly  enough  homeward.  Thus 
gradually  the  country  relapsed  into  quiet,  and  empty 
farms  made  many  lay  aside  the  bayonet  and  take 
up  the  spade,  who,  having  tasted  the  thrill  of  battle, 
had  no  longer  any  taste  for  the  ways  of  peace. 

Frederick  Conyngham  was  brought  into  sudden 
prominence  by  the  part  he  played  in  the  disturbance 
at  Toledo,  which  disturbance  proved,  as  history 
tells,  to  be  a  forerunner  of  the  great  revolution  a 
year  later  in  Madrid.  Promotion  was  at  this  time 
rapid,  and  the  Englishman  made  many  strides  in  a 
few  months.  Jealousy  was  so  rife  among  the 
Spanish  leaders,  Christinos  distrusted  so  thoroughly 
the  reformed  Carlists,  that  one  who  was  outside 
these  petty  considerations  received  from  both  sides 
many  honours  on  the  sole  recommendation  of  his 
neutrality. 

"  And  besides,"  said  Father  Concha,  sitting  in 
the  cunlight  on  his  church  steps  at  Ronda,  reading 
to  the  barber  and  the  shoemaker  and  other  of  his 
parishioners  the  latest  newspaper  —  "  and  besides  he 
is  clever." 

He  paused,  slowly  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

"  Where  the  river  is  deepest  it  makes  least  noise," 
he  added. 

The  barber  wagged  his  head,  after  the  manner 
of  one  who  will  never  admit  that  he  does  not  under- 
stand an  allusion.  And  before  any  could  speak 
the  clatter  of  horses  in  the  narrow  street  diverted 
attention.     Concha  rose  to  his  feet. 


324  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  Ah ! "  he  said,  and  went  forward  to  meet 
Conyngham,  who  was  riding  with  Concepcion  at 
his  side. 

"  So  you  have  come,  my  son,"  he  said,  shaking 
hands.  He  looked  up  into  the  Englishman's  face, 
which  was  burnt  brown  by  service  under  a  merci- 
less sun.  Conyngham  looked  lean  and  strong,  but 
his  eyes  had  no  rest  in  them.  This  was  not  a  man 
who  had  all  he  wanted. 

"Are  you  come  to  Ronda,  or  are  you  passing 
through  ?  "  asked  the  priest. 

"  To  Ronda.  As  I  passed  the  Casa  Barenna  I 
made  inquiries.  The  ladies  are  in  the  town,  it 
appears." 

"  Yes ;  they  are  with  Estella  in  the  house,  you 
know,  unless  you  have  forgotten  it." 

"  No,"  answered  Conyngham,  getting  out  of  the 
saddle  —  "no,  padre,  I  have  forgotten  nothing." 

Concepcion  came  forward  and  led  the  horse 
away. 

"  I  will  walk  to  the  Casa  Vincente.  Have  you 
the  time  to  accompany  me  ?  "  said  Conyngham. 

"  I  have  always  time  for  my  neighbour's 
business,"  replied  Concha,  and  they  set  off  to- 
gether. 

"  You  walk  stiffly,"  said  Concha.  "  Have  you 
ridden  far  ?  " 

"  From  Osuna,  forty  miles  since  daybreak." 

"  You  are  in  a  hurry." 

"  Yes,  I  am  in  a  hurry." 


THE    DAWN   OF   PEACE  325 

Without  further  comment  he  extracted  from 
inside  his  smart  tunic  a  letter,  the  famous  letter  in 
a  pink  envelope,  which  he  handed  to  Concha. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  priest,  turning  it  over  ;  "  you 
and  I  first  saw  this  in  the  Hotel  de  la  Marina,  at 
Alo-eciras,  when  we  were  fools  not  to  throw  it  into 
the  nearest  brazier.  We  should  have  saved  a  good 
man's  life,  my  friend." 

He  handed  the  letter  back,  and  thoughtfully 
dusted  his  cassock  where  it  was  worn  and  shiny 
with  constant  dusting,  so  that  the  snuff  had  naught 
to  cling  to. 

"  And  you  have  got  it  at  last.  Holy  saints, 
these  Englishmen !  Do  you  always  get  what  you 
want,  my  son  ?  " 

"  Not  always,"  replied  Conyngham,  with  an 
uneasy  laugh  ;  "  but  I  should  be  a  fool  not  to  try." 

"Assuredly,"  said  Concha — "assuredly,  and 
you  have  come  to  Ronda  ...  to  try." 

"  Yes." 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  on  the  shady  side  of 
the  street,  and  presently  passed  and  saluted  a  priest, 
one  of  Concha's  colleagues  in  this  city  of  the 
South. 

"  There  walks  a  tragedy,"  said  Concha,  in  his 
curt  way.  "  Inside  every  cassock  there  walks  a 
tragedy  ...  or  a  villain." 

After  a  pause  it  was  Concha  who  again  broke 
the  silence  ;  Conyngham  seemed  to  be  occupied 
with  his  own  thoughts. 


326  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

"  And  Larralde  .   .   .  ?  "  said  the  priest. 

"  I  come  from  him,  from  Barcelona,"  answered 
Conyngham,  "  where  he  is  in  safety.  Catalonia  is 
full  of  such  as  he.  Sir  John  Pleydell  before  leav- 
ing Spain  bought  this  letter  for  two  hundred  pounds, 
a  few  months  ago,  when  I  was  a  poor  man  and 
could  not  offer  a  price  for  it.  But  Larralde  dis- 
appeared when  the  plot  failed,  and  I  have  only  found 
him  lately  in  Barcelona." 

"  In  Barcelona  ?  "  echoed  Concha. 

"  Yes ;  where  he  can  take  a  passage  to  Cuba,  and 
where  he  awaits  Julia  Barenna." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Concha,  "  so  he  also  is  faithful. 
Because  life  is  not  long,  my  son.  That  is  the  only 
reason.  How  wise  was  the  great  God  when  He 
made  a  human  life  short !  " 

"  I  have  a  letter,"  continued  Conyngham,  "  from 
Larralde  to  the  Senorita  Barenna." 

"  So  you  parted  friends  in  Barcelona,  after  all, 
when  his  knife  has  been  between  your  shoulders." 

"  Yes." 

"  God  bless  you,  my  son !  "  said  the  priest,  in 
Latin,  with  his  careless,  hurried  gesture  of  the 
cross. 

After  they  had  walked  a  few  paces  he  spoke 
again. 

"  I  shall  go  to  Barcelona  with  her,"  he  said, 
"  and  marry  her  to  this  man.  When  one  has  no 
affairs  of  one's  own  there  always  remain,  for  old 
women  and  priests,  the  affairs  of  one's  neighbour. 


THE    DAWN   OF    PEACE  327 

Tell  me,  .  .  ."  he  paused  and  looked  fiercely  at 
him  under  shaggy  brows  .  .  .  "  tell  me  why  you 
came  to  Spain  ?  " 

"  You  want  to  know  who  and  what  I  am  before 
we  reach  the  Calle  Mayor  ?  "  said  Conyngham. 

"  I  know  what  you  are,  ami  go  mio,  better  than 
yourself  perhaps." 

As  they  walked  through  the  narrow  streets,  Con- 
yngham told  his  simple  history,  dwelling  more 
particularly  on  the  circumstances  preceding  his 
departure  from  England,  and  Concha  listened  with 
no  further  sign  of  interest  than  a  grimace  or  a  dry 
smile  here  and  there. 

"  The  mill  gains  by  going,  and  not  by  standing 
still,"  he  said,  and  added  after  a  pause,  "  but  it  is 
always  a  mistake  to  grind  another's  wheat  for 
nothing." 

They  were  now  approaching  the  old  house  in 
the  Calle  Mayor,  and  Conyngham  lapsed  into  a 
silence  which  his  companion  respected.  They 
passed  under  the  great  doorway  into  the  patio, 
which  was  quiet  and  shady  at  this  afternoon  hour. 
The  servants,  of  whom  there  are  a  multitude  in  all 
great  Spanish  houses,  had  apparently  retired  to  the 
seclusion  of  their  own  quarters.  One  person  alone 
was  discernible  amid  the  orange-trees  and  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  murmuring  fountain.  She 
was  asleep  in  a  rocking-chair,  with  a  newspaper  on 
her  lap.  She  preferred  the  patio  to  the  garden, 
which  was  too  quiet  for  one  of  her  temperament. 


328  IN   KEDAR'S    TENTS 

In  the  patio  she  found  herself  better  placed  to 
exchange  a  word  with  those  engaged  in  the  business 
of  the  house  —  to  learn,  in  fact,  from  the  servants 
the  latest  gossip,  to  ask  futile  questions  of  them,  and 
to  sit  in  that  idleness  which  will  not  allow  others 
to  be  employed.  In  a  word,  this  was  the  Senora 
Barenna,  and  Concha,  seeing  her,  stood  for  a 
moment  in  hesitation. 

Then,  with  a  signal  to  Conyngham,  he  crept 
noiselessly  across  the  tessellated  pavement  to  the 
shadow  of  the  staircase.  They  passed  up  the 
broad  steps  without  sound,  and  without  .awaking 
the  sleeping  lady.  In  the  gallery  above,  the  priest 
paused  and  looked  down  into  the  courtyard,  his 
grim  face  twisted  into  a  queer  smile,  then  at  the 
woman  sitting  there,  at  life  and  all  its  illusions, 
perhaps.     He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  passed  on. 

In  the  drawing-room  they  found  Julia,  who  leapt 
to  her  feet  and  hurried  across  the  floor  when  she 
saw  Conyngham.  She  stood  looking  at  him  breath- 
lessly, her  whole  history  written  in  her  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered,  as  if  he  had  called  her  — 
"  yes  ;  what  is  it  ?  Have  you  come  to  tell  me  .  .  . 
something  ?  " 

"  I  have  come  to  give  you  a  letter,  senorita,"  he 
answered,  handing  her  Larralde's  missive.  She 
held  out  her  hand  and  never  took  her  eyes  from 
his  face. 

Concha  walked  to  the  window,  the  window 
from  whence  the  alcalde  of  Ronda  had  seen  Con- 


THE   DAWN    OF   PEACE  329 

yngham  hand  Julia  Barenna  another  letter.  The 
old  priest  stood  looking  down  into  the  garden, 
where,  amid  the  feathery  foliage  of  the  pepper-trees 
and  the  bamboos,  he  could  perceive  the  shadow  of 
a  black  dress.  Conyngham  also  turned  away,  and 
thus  the  two  men,  who  held  this  woman's  happi- 
ness in  the  hollow  of  their  hands,  stood  listening  to 
the  crisp  rattle  of  the  paper  as  she  tore  the  envel- 
ope and  unfolded  her  lover's  letter.  A  great  hap- 
piness and  a  great  sorrow  are  alike  impossible  of 
realisation.  We  only  perceive  their  extent  when 
their  importance  has  begun  to  wane. 

Julia  Barenna  read  the  letter  through  to  the  end, 
and  it  is  possible  (for  women  are  blind  in  such 
matters)  failed  to  perceive  the  selfishness  in  every 
line  of  it.  Then,  with  the  message  of  happiness 
in  her  hand,  she  returned  to  the  chair  she  had  just 
quitted,  with  a  vague  wonder  in  her  mind,  and  the 
very  human  doubt  that  accompanies  all  possession, 
as  to  whether  the  price  paid  had  not  been  too  high. 

Concha  was  the  first  to  move.  He  turned  and 
crossed  the  room  toward  Conyngham. 

"  I  see,"  he  said,  "  Estella  in  the  garden." 

And  they  passed  out  of  the  room  together,  leav- 
ing Julia  Barenna  alone  with  her  thoughts.  On 
the  broad  stone  balcony   Concha  paused. 

"  I  will  stay  here,"  he  said.  He  looked  over 
the  balustrade  —  Senora  Barenna  was  still  asleep. 

"  Do  not  awake  her,"  he  whispered.  "  Let  all 
sleeping  things   .   .   .  sleep." 


330  IN    KEDAR'S   TENTS 

Conyngham  passed  down  the  stairs  noiselessly, 
and  through  the  doorway  into  the  garden. 

"  And  at  the  end  the  Gloria  is  chanted,"  said 
Concha,  watching  him  go. 

The  scent  of  the  violets  greeted  Conyngham  as 
he  went  forward  "beneath  the  trees  planted  there  in 
the  Moslem's  day.  The  running  water  murmured 
sleepily,  as  it  hurried  in  its  narrow  channel  toward 
the  outlet  through  the  gray  wall,  from  whence  it 
leapt  four  hundred  feet  into  the  Tajo  below. 

Estella  was  seated  in  the  shade  of  a  gnarled  fig- 
tree,  where  tables  and  chairs  indited  the  Spanish 
habit  of  an  out-of-door  existence.  She  rose  as  he 
came  toward  her,  and  met  his  eyes  gravely.  A 
gleam  of  sun  glancing  through  the  leaves  fell  on 
her  golden  hair,  half  hidden  by  the  mantilla,  and 
showed  that  she  was  pale  with  some  fear  or  desire. 

Their  attitude  toward  each  other  was  one  of 
mutual  respect,  which  feeling  should  surely  be  the 
basis  of  love. 

"Senorita,"  he  said,  "  have  brought  you  the 
letter." 

He  held  it  out  and  she  took  it,  turning  over  the 
worn  envelope  absent-mindedly. 

"  I  have  not  read  it  myself,  and  am  permitted  to 
give  it  to  you  on  one  condition,  namely,  that  you 
destroy  it  as  soon  as  you  have  read  it." 

She  looked  at  it  again. 

"  It  contains  the  lives  of  many  men,  their  lives 
and  the  happiness  of  those  connected  with  them," 


THE    DAWN    OF    PEACE  331 

said  Conyngham.     "  That  is  what  you  hold  in  your 
hand,  senorita,  as  well  as  my  life  and  happiness." 

She  raised  her  dark  eyes  to  his  for  a  moment, 
and  then  their  tenderness  was  not  of  earth  or  of 
this  world  at  all. 

Then  she  tore  the  envelope  and  its  contents 
slowly  into  a  hundred  pieces,  and  dropped  the  flut- 
tering papers  into  the  stream  pacing  in  its  marble 
bed  toward  the  Tajo  and  the  oblivion  of  the  sea. 

"  There,  I  have  destroyed  the  letter,"  she  said, 
with  a  thoughtful  little  smile ;  then  looking  up,  she 
met  his  eyes. 

"  I  did  not  want  it.  I  am  glad  you  gave  it 
to  me.  It  will  make  a  difference  to  our  lives, 
though  ...  I  never  wanted  it." 

Then  she  came  slowly  toward  him. 


Th£    END. 


SO  87 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


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In  xledar's   tents  J 

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